


Document 34

by orphan_account



Category: NCIS, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek and Stiles are mates I guess?, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Yeah I have no idea what to put
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stiles didn't fight back as he was grabbed again. He wasn't thinking about that. Instead, he was clawing on the ground towards his father. That's all he could do, all he could think about. Get to his father. Get to dad. Help dad. Save dad.It felt like time slowed as he was tossed in the back of the dark van. He barely even felt the blow to his head from a hard, blunt object before he passed out.
Relationships: Background Peter Hale/Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 7
Kudos: 224





	Document 34

**Author's Note:**

> This is a REALLY old fic I wrote. It's three years old, and that may not seem like much, but since then my writing is VASTLY improved. 
> 
> *shudders under a table
> 
> Anyway, there's a lot of typos, not the best plot, nor are the characterizations very accurate, but a friend asked me to post it anyway, so here it is!
> 
> *shuddering gets worse
> 
> Hope you enjoy regardless!

**  
  
**

"Oh come on, dad, it was great!"

"Their jokes were so bad it physically pained me to listen."

"Well, most of them, yes, but it was funny! You know, in a really cringy way."

Dad rolled his eyes. "You had your hand over your face almost the whole time."

"Yeah, okay, the jokes were terrible. But they still made everyone laugh."

"They weren't laughing at the joke, they were laughing at the joke-teller."

"Still laughing! Still counts! Laughter was caused!" Stiles punched his snorting father in the arm. "Come on, we're coming back next Tuesday. They're having Karaoke night."

Dad shook his head, still chuckling. "Oh, joy," he deadpanned.

"Thanks for coming with me anyway, dad," Stiles said softly. He and his dad hadn't a lot of time together lately, what with all the rouge werewolves and then that fucking devil-demon selkie. That thing looked so damn cute... until it opened it's mouth of razor-blade teeth and decided it would go all homicidal-man-eater and try to bite your face off. That was damn fun!

It's still been a lot better since Stiles told Dad about what was really going on. Well, he'd figured it out during the Nogitsune thing, but afterwords, as soon as he was able to talk again, he told his father for real, in his own words, explaining everything. That had been a few months ago. Their relationship is still tense at times - especially when something dangerous and new comes up and his dad doesn't want him going, doesn't want him being involved with something so dangerous, doesn't want him staying up all night to research. They've still been trying to work on that, trying to get his father to realize that this is Stiles' life, and has been Stiles' life for a long time now, and will continue to be his life.

So yeah, sometimes it's still tense. Sometimes there's screaming matches because his father has caught on that there are secrets that Stiles is still holding from him, or because Stiles comes back hurt but still refuses to stay away from the danger.

Or, fucking hell, the times Derek comes over? Yeah, that always ends in disaster. Derek is polite, sure, but he's so fucking socially awkward that he says the worst things without realizing it. Trying to convince the Sheriff that he's capable of protecting his son by saying, "I could kill you with both hands tied behind my back," is an incredibly great way to get yourself shot. Luckily, Stiles had laughed very loudly and very awkwardly and pulled Derek away from his father (who's face had been getting red with anger the second he said the sentence) and up to his room where he scolded him for about half an hour, so no death happened.

His father doesn't like Derek. Doesn't trust him. Even though Stiles and the whole pack have tried to convince him that Derek is really a good guy.

He doesn't like Jackson either, but that's actually a smart thing. However, he doesn't like Jackson because he thinks that he's "physically abusing" Stiles... Which is true, but not totally. It's because of pack training. Jackson likes to shove him. The ground likes to bruise him.

His dad trusts Scott again after a week of not trusting him, but is a lot more nosy in his business. His dad and Scott's mom have dinner together because of it. It's weird.

His dad doesn't not like Deaton, but he doesn't trust the guy. Stiles thinks he's still holding a grudge over the whole lying to him during a police investigation.

He and Lydia get along disturbingly well. Actually, after a talk he and Lydia had that lasted all night, the next day Parrish got stuck on desk-duty that'll last for a whole month. Stiles rewarded his dad for that with a cookie as soon as he had found out.

There's still some hard times, but it seems that everything's kind of settled. Well, not the supernatural community, of course, but the pack just seems stronger. More connected. They've just found their groove. Well, everyone except for Derek, but that's just a given.

So Stiles decided that one day a week dedicated to his dad and nothing else couldn't hurt.

The two of them walked away from the bar, making their way to Stiles' car which was across the street... But then, because nothing in Stiles' life can ever just be innocent and happy, this black van came screeching to a stop in front of them and three guys jumped out. With guns. And ran at them.

One of them grabbed Stiles while the other two tried to threaten his yelling father off with a point of their guns. Stiles thrashed around and managed to momentarily get out of his attacker's hold by an elbow to his lower ribs. He fell onto the ground and looked up just in time to see his father punch one of the guys in the face and pull out his own gun - the one that he apparently always has on him - and then the other guy that had been aiming at him, the one that had been moving back towards the van, pulled the trigger.

Stiles' hearing mostly cut off. His vision blackened on the edges. He screamed, and didn't hear it. It wasn't because the gunshot was loud, it was because he was watching his father stumble and fall, bright blood staining around a hole in the chest of his white dress shirt.

Stiles didn't fight back as he was grabbed again. He wasn't thinking about that. Instead, he was clawing on the ground towards his father. That's all he could do, all he could think about. Get to his father. Get to dad. Help dad. Save dad.

It felt like time slowed as he was tossed in the back of the dark van. He barely even felt the blow to his head from a hard, blunt object before he passed out.

When he woke up next, he had a delirious thought that it had all been a dream and he had really only fallen asleep drunk. That would've explained the pounding headache, dizziness, and a mouth that tasted like death. Except he was tied to a chair. And he had itchy dry blood that had run from his temple.

"He's awake, boss," a deep and slightly navel voice said from a few yards away at his two-o'clock. Stiles pried his eyes open and squinted at the man the voice came from. He looked like a rat with his big bulgy eyes and long sharp nose. Stiles wonders if he had buck-teeth.

He mildly registered that he was in some kind of abandoned-factory base. There were tables and equipment to the left, a few chairs to the right, and graffiti all over the walls. The windows were blacked out, and the floor had been swept in some places, but it was obviously out of use until only recently. The air tasted like dust and mold and the equipment had no dust on them, while everything else was coated in a fine layer.

From a doorless entryway came two more people. One, a woman with way too many piercings, and the other, a long-haired blue-eyed man who Stiles might've considered attractive, had he not been kidnapped by him. He was wearing cowboy boots.

Stiles frowned at the three. He thinks he remembers Rat-guy being there from the van, probably the one who tried to grab him. And he thinks Cowboy might've been the one who shot...

But he doesn't remember a woman being there. He remembers three men.

Ahh, but maybe the woman had been there. Maybe the one driving. That means there's still another man unaccounted for.

"About time," Cowboy said with a country accent. He walked over and Stiles glared at him. He crouched down and grinned. "You're gonna make us a lot of money, kid."

Stiles swallowed thickly. This didn't sound good.

A few hours later, Stiles is in pain. A lot of pain. He had mouthed off to them a few too many times, demanding they tell him what's going on and talking back every time they told him to shut up. The woman was the first to smack him across the face.

The sharp sting was such a shock that it actually shut Stiles up for a few minutes, heart pounding and Adrenalin pumping. But eventually, he began to scream at them again. The woman had slapped him a few more times, but he didn't stop yelling.

Then Cowboy came over and grabbed his chin and got in his face and hissed, "If you keep making that god-awful noise, I'm gonna knock you out again."

"Why, are people hearing me?! Good! I WANT THEM TO FUCKING HEAR ME!" he yelled. Cowboy let go of his chin and raised his hand, and instead of a slap, he delivered a head-rattling punch to his cheek. Stiles' head snapped back and his neck twinged in pain from the sharp angle.

Stiles pulled his head back down and whimpered at the throbbing pain under his eye. He felt his heartbeat in his teeth.

Stiles didn't make another noise for a while. Just quietly focused on trying to work through the pain, trying to keep calm. He had glanced up at one point in time to watch a new guy come in, the guy that had been unaccounted for. He looked like a techy. Glasses and everything, though he had tattoos all over his arms and hands.

At some point, the realization finally crashed down on him.

His dad was dead.

His dad was dead and he was alone.

Stiles' breathing began to pick up, tears stinging at his eyes. His body tried to curl in on itself but his hands and feet were tied securely. It just made him feel that much more vulnerable.

The ensuing panic attack was one of the worst ones he'd had since his mother died. The four in the room at first ignored him, thinking he was just faking. Then they started to wander closer, looking at him in anger and confusion.

"He better not die!" he had heard Techy hiss. "What is this, is he dying?! Why isn't he breathing?!"

"Knock it off!" the woman had snapped, slapping him when he could do nothing to answer or obey. It just sent him further into his panic attack.

Eventually, they ignored him and backed off. The attack calmed a few minutes later, and Stiles calmed half an hour after that.

Sometime later, they began to move fast. They grabbed their equipment and took it out of the building. Stiles watched with passive, tired eyes.

Cowboy cut Stiles loose and dragged him out by a tight grip on his arm.

The second Stiles was pulled out a door and he got a glimpse of freedom, he wrestled out of his hold, kicking Cowboy in the balls, and made a run for it.

He screamed when he was taken to the ground, and screamed even louder when a heavy boot crashed down on his left foot. He was dragged back to... Not to the van, an RV, now. He was tossed in and tied down to yet another chair.

"Damn it, boss, we were supposed to keep him uninjured!" the woman hissed.

"He was trying to run!" Cowboy snapped back. "He'll understand."

"Like we want him to know the kid he's buying tried to run away," Rat snorted.

Stiles paled as Techy threw of bag of ice at him.

They were selling him.

* * *

Scott was crying. Hale was pacing. Lydia was trying to comfort Scott. Melissa was trying to comfort Lydia. Isaac was trying really hard to be invisable, tucked into the corner of the room. Erica was shouting profanities. Boyd was trying to hush Erica up without getting attacked.

And John had a headache.

And a hole in his chest.

And his son was missing.

"I got to say, it's a miracle you survived, Sheriff," a doctor said as he entered the room. Hale stopped pacing, only to glare at the doctor with a glare that John wished he could manage. It would make interrogating suspects so much easier.

Then again, though, that's the glare of a killer.

The doctor looked up from the chart in his hand and stared with wide eyes at the many unauthorized visitors in the room.

"Who the hell says something like that anyway?!" Erica shouted, running at the doctor. John was about to shout, but Hale grabbed her arm and stopped her short, pushed her back towards Boyd.

"What's the news, doctor?" John asked tiredly.

"Um..." The doctor was now staring at Hale, who looked seconds away from murder. "Well, you should take a few months to fully heal," he said slowly, choosing his words wisely. "One at minimum, four at maximum. We'll prescribe you painkillers and antibiotics to fight infection. Uh, you'll stay here for another few days and be released and confined to bed-rest for another week and you'll need to be careful not to pull any of your stitches. We'll check on you a few times a week to make sure there's no more internal bleeding and physical therapy will be recommended as soon as you're able to move around again."

That's not too bad, he thought.

But it meant he wasn't going to be very helpful in the search for his son.

"Thank you doctor. But I need to be released far earlier than a week," he said.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry but we can't do that." His eyes were wide as he looked at John in something akin to wonder. "It really was a miracle that you survived. The bullet pierced your lung and two major veins that go directly to your heart. With injuries like that, you should've been dead in seconds. The blood would've clogged your lungs and anyway, your heart should've given out immediately. If I didn't know any better I'd say my assistant's guess of magic saving you was right."

John rubbed his brow, looking to Scott and Lydia. "Was magic involved?" he asked tonelessly.

Lydia wiped her eyes, shrugging. "Deaton seems to think Stiles possesses an ability to naturally use and manipulate magic. I wouldn't rule it out completely."

"Seeing you get shot..." Melissa made a face like she didn't like that she was going along with such an outlandish thought, but knowing it made sense. It was a look John is very familiar with in the mirror. "If Stiles did have an... ability, I'm sure he'd make sure he did something to save you."

"Stiles' abilities barely reach above manipulating a little bit of mountain ash," Scott said. "I've seen it. But he insists that's all he can do."

"Stress brings out deeper rooted abilities, magic or otherwise," Derek mumbled to the group.

"He's not really magic, is he?" John asked, wincing at the thought of his son being something other than perfectly human. He's not proud of his feelings about the subject, but he just wants Stiles as safe as possible while running with wolves and fugitives and killers every day.

"He is," Scott said, nodding. "I've seen it."

The doctor, having been watching the discussion of the group, pulled a face and tapped his clipboard. "Nevertheless, you can't leave until we clear you and give you a clean bill of health, Mister Stilinski."

John sighed and glanced at Hale, and Hale glanced at him. John nodded and Hale took a threatening step towards the doctor. If Hale was good for one thing, it was intimidation. Hilariously, the doctor raised the flimsy clipboard like a shield. "The risk of him ripping his stitches and causing internal bleeding again is too great! Internal bleeding not treated in time could kill him! Magic or no magic, he managed to survive once, but I wouldn't count on him being safe from internal bleeding once more!" Weirdly, this information seemed to cause Hale to back off. Did he really care about his health?

"My son is missing, doctor," John said. "I'm the Sheriff. I can't do my job in a hospital bed."

"John," Melissa said softly. "You were shot."

"Yes, and I've been shot before! My son is missing!" John shouted, mad and frustrated. "My son is missing!" He was taken by men with guns, men who kill. He was taken and John has to do something! And he can't do anything in a fucking hospital bed!

He threw an arm over his face and wiped away his tears, the heart-monitor beeping rapidly reminding him to calm the hell down.

There was silence in the room for a few moments. Until Hale of all people spoke up quietly, "Sir... Stiles would want you to take care of yourself."

John frowned in confusion, lifting his arm from his face and curiously looking at Hale, the man who never showed any emotion other than anger. He suddenly sounded so caring, so gentle, so emotional. John almost forgot it was a murderer who was talking to him. Hale had his head down, arms crossed defensively across his chest, eyes on the ground.

Even the kids were looking at Hale like he was some imposter.

"Yeah," Scott agreed, nodding eagerly. "Yeah. You have to-to be healthy a-and strong. For him. When we get him back."

Hale lifted his head, inhaling sharply as he usually did when he made up his mind on something. He usually does it right before he either unloads terrible information or leaves after an argument or throws something at Stiles.

"Isaac, Erica, Boyd, with me," Hale said, shooting a glare at each of them. "Scott, stay with him." He jerked his chin at John. "Lydia, your in charge here until we get back."

"Lydia?!" Scott shrieked. "Lydia?! Why not me?!"

Hale twitched, almost just like how Stiles does when he's frustratedly nervous. It was a curious thing. John was intrigued.

"You're emotionally compromised!" Hale hissed.

"Yeah! Stiles is missing! Excuse me for fucking caring about my best friend!!" Scott shouted, jumping to his feet.

"Oh, god, guys, not here!" John moaned.

"Boys!" Melissa snapped, stepping between them. John felt a flash of fear that she would get hurt until he saw how Hale immediately dropped his gaze and turned his head away from her. It always made John grin. Made him see a sliver of good in Hale. Surely a man who backs down at the slightest authority from a woman can't be all bad. Not to mention an apparent Alpha werewolf doing so.

"But mom!" Scott whined.

"Lydia is in charge, or you're going to be kept out of the loop," Melissa said to Scott. Damn, she was smart. Scott caved in an instant.

"Where are you taking the kids?" John asked Hale as soon as Scott sat back down.

"To sniff for clues," Isaac said, grinning and tapping his nose before pushing past the doctor. Erica stomped past next, glaring at the doctor, Boyd following.

"Keep them safe," John said, looking straight at Hale. There was a moment of shock over Hale's face before it hardened into a glare and he pointed sharply at John.

"Stay in the fucking bed." And with that, he stormed out next.

Melissa was grinning down at John, who was frowning at where Hale had disappeared around the door.

"He just ordered me to do something," John said, agasp.

"He cares," Lydia said offhandedly, like it was obvious and constant. She must be the only one who thinks so, then.

Five hours later, Lydia read out a few lines of texts sent from Erica.

"'We tracked the car to an abandoned building. Stiles was definitely there, and also four others. Same scent as at the bar. They stayed there for a while and then left in a different car. A big one. We tracked it for a while but they got on an interstate heading east. No way we're going to be able to track that. The scents are human...'" Lydia stopped talking and John frowned at her distressed look.

"What?" John asked.

Lydia took a breath and Scott bit his nail in worry. "She says, 'Derek's acting weird. He won't say anything but'... She caught the scent of blood."

"Oh god," Melissa whispered.

"'It was Stiles'.'" Lydia continued. "She said, 'Yeah, Derek's acting really weird. We went back to the building and he keeps growling at a few specific places...'" Lydia took another deep breath. "'I talked to Isaac. We think Stiles was being tortured.'"

John cried quietly into his arm. Scott wailed.

* * *

Stiles was now sporting a few knife-marks as well, for back-talking. They'd given up on keeping him relatively unharmed.

They're still driving in the RV. They feed him something small every few hours so at least they aren't starving him, and they even let him go piss, albeit they keep a gun on his head the whole time. A memorable moment in his life was now etched into his brain. Standing there at the toilet with his dick in his hand and a gun to his head. Techy had gotten impatient and snapped, "Will you fucking go piss already?!" and Stiles snapped back, "You have a gun to my head, dickface! It takes relaxation to piss!"

Stiles has figured out that they are, in fact, human, so he doesn't even have an advantage over them.

He also learned that they're on their way to Washington DC, where the guy who wants to buy him is going to be in about four days.

Stiles misses his pack. He misses the supernatural. He misses his dad.

"Humans suck!" Stiles bellowed.

* * *

"I got another text from Erica," Lydia announced excitedly.

"Well? Read it out!" John demanded. He'd been talking with his deputies all day on the phone and even some came to visit him in the hospital. They've been getting no-where.

"'I called Danny. He's been checking through traffic cameras. Sorry Sheriff.'" John snorted. Like he cared anymore. "'We helped Danny pick out a few target vehicles. We've got an RV and two campers that we're tracking. Both campers are headed north, though, and the RV is headed east. We think the RV is what we want since the car Stiles was in got on an east-bound highway...'" Lydia paused for a moment. "Just got another text. 'The RV stopped at a gas-station and Danny was able to hack into the gas-station's surveillance feed.'"

"Just how skilled is this Danny guy?" John muttered.

"Very," Scott answered. "Scary very."

"'Two guys came in. Danny doesn't have the ability to hack into government files to do facial recognition without getting arrested, and he doesn't have the software to scan faces anyway, but he was able to tap into the audio feed. They mentioned going to Washington DC for a trade off in a few days.'"

Scott began to sniffle again, but this was good news to John. They had the kidnappers on photo and audio, and they have their plan.

And he has a really good friend in Washington DC who will be able to help.

"You let him do this?!" Hale shouted at Melissa.

"There really wasn't any stopping him!" Melissa complained back. "Trust me, I'm just as upset about this as you."

"I doubt it!"

"Come on, guys, plane tickets are expensive! Don't you dare let them go to waste!" John hobbled off with his cane towards the airport building from the long-term parking and was followed by the excited kids and a grumpy Melissa and a subtly growling Hale.

Hale kept glaring at him. Well, more specifically at his arm which was wrapped around his side. It was starting to tick John off.

"Hale," John said to him while they waited in line to board the plane. "I could've just as well left you here."

Hale snapped his eyes up to meet his and his face actually twitched into an expression of confusion. "I would've found my own way there anyway." Hale said offhandedly before more firmly saying, "You were supposed to stay in the hospital."

"Yeah? And do nothing while my son is somewhere out there? What's my life for his?"

"We're getting him back," Hale said firmly, turning fully towards him and taking a step closer. He looked pissed. "We're getting him back! But I'd like him to have a father to come home to!"

And now people were staring. But John didn't care about that at the moment. What he cared about is why Hale was acting like he really cared.

"And why would you care? All you ever do is push my kid around! All you ever do is get into trouble and get him into danger!"

"You think I haven't tried to keep him away from danger?!" Hale hissed. "That kid's the most stubborn person I've ever met!"

"Stop! You don't get to act like you care about him!"

"What the- Act?!"

"I'm sick of your bullshit, Hale! You're always lying!" Always faking. Always evading. Always hurting. All he is is violence and hate and lies. He's the only reason Stiles comes home every week with a new wound! "You're the reason Stiles has so many scars! If you really cared you would protect him! You don't care about my son!" Hale's eyes flashed red just before he shut them tight and locked his jaw down, balled his fists, but John barreled on. "All you ever do is roll your eyes at him, treat him like some insignificant child. All you ever do is demand his help without ever giving him so much as a 'thank you'. All you ever do is keep him up all night to do something that you should have no trouble doing, and you give him nothing! Not even any recognition of how important he is to all of you! All you ever do is get him hurt! All you ever do is boss him around and treat him like he's nothing! All you ever fucking do is take him from me and put him in danger and make him lie and hurt and kill!" John wiped his eyes from tears. "And now he's gone - a simple kidnapping - and you can't even save him from that!! Why the hell should I trust you to save him from something that's out of my hands?! Why the hell should I believe that you care?!"

Hale stepped frighteningly close and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I care about Stiles. Don't you ever say I don't care about him again. He's pack. He's pack, damn it. He's family. He pisses me off, I'll admit it, because he's the only person-..." John's cop instincts kicked in and he caught the cut-off sentence, but couldn't ask about it because Hale was continuing. "But I care about him. I trust him enough to ask for his help, I need him enough to need to be around him, I care about him enough to go on a fucking plane for him. I'm a born wolf! My feet were never meant to leave the ground! I'm going against my fucking instincts for him! You don't know how important that is, but hell, it scares me." Hale took a breath. "I care about him, and I care about you and Melissa, and all these idiot pups. I care. I'm just... I'm not very good at showing it... I'm sorry you thought otherwise."

John sighed. It was that tone. And that defeated way he held his shoulders. He was either telling the absolute truth or he was a really fantastic actor.

"Lets get on the plane before they call security."

"Yes, sir," Hale said quietly, walking past the dumbfounded "pups" and onto the plane.

"I've never heard him say that much at once," Erica whispered in awe. "I've never smelled that emotion on him before, either."

"Do I want to know?" Scott muttered.

"Probably best you don't," Lydia agreed.

"Go, go," John shooed them onto the plane.

"You know what that was, right?" Melissa said quietly to them as they made their way onto the plane next. John rose a brow at her.

"A weird born-wolf thing?"

Melissa rolled his eyes at John. "All you boys are so oblivious."

"Right?" Lydia chimed in, popping up beside them from around the corner. Her and Melissa shared a fist-bump.

John rolled his eyes, exhausted from all the drama.

The plane ride was kind of funny. Mostly because of Scott and Isaac making funny faces because of popping ears or something. And also because of Hale, who had gotten the isle seat with Erica. Across from John and Melissa. Hale had sat there with every muscle in his body tense, which looked extremely uncomfortable, glaring at the ceiling of the plane for about a few minutes before he scrambled up and shoved Erica to the isle seat and took hers, threw open the window, and groaned as he looked out at how high they were, thumping his forehead against the glass. Erica had pursed her lips and patted him on the back, and Hale had made an actual wolf's whine that caused the people in the seats in front of them to look around in confusion.

"Don't worry, my little puppy, we'll be on the ground soon." Erica said, and Hale replied with, "Call me that again. I dare you."

And then, four and a half hours later, when they were landing a very rough landing, Hale broke a seat handle.

"Derek!" Erica hissed as Melissa gasped and Hale froze.

"Shhh, shh shh," Hale hushed, scrambling to put the thing in a mostly-intact-looking position between the seats.

"Oh my god, that's hilarious!" Isaac said, laughing.

Hale thumped his head back against the seat. John allowed himself to snicker.

* * *

"Could you at least play something good? There's gotta be better radio stations." Stiles complained from his chair. It earned himself another punch to the ribs. This has been going on for a few hours now. They just hurt him. Let off their steam or whatever. Just for fun. They'll do it for no reason at all. Just punch him, slap him, cut him, kick him.

"I'm just getting so damn bored," Cowboy had said. "You're our only entertainment." And then to justify his physical abuse, he said, "At least I'm not using you for sexual entertainment. You'd rather I hurt you, right?"

And Stiles would much rather be cut and hit than raped.

* * *

"This place looks hella fancy," Erica said as everyone stepped out of the rental cars. John smiled up at the big building. He wondered if he still remembered the way around.

"My friend - from when I was about your age... his dad used to work here. He took over." John smiled wide. "He was the reason I wanted to become some sort of law-officer. He can help us find Stiles." Because Lydia had gotten a text from Danny saying that the people who had Stiles changed their plates. He'd lost them. But he'd sent a few pictures, numbers, and other information to John's Email to help them find them again. Leroy should be able to help him.

"Only a few of us can go in," John announced, turning towards the group.

Out of all of them - Melissa, Hale, Scott, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac - the ones least likely to freak out in any way to anything are honestly Isaac, Lydia, and Melissa. Though John doesn't really like the way Isaac looks sometimes, what with all his creepy grinning, so Lydia and Melissa it is.

"Melissa and Lydia, you two can come in with me."

The simple sentence had sent Scott into a fit, made Erica huff and roll her eyes, and made Hale cock his jaw and give him a squinted glare. John had kept eye-contact with Hale, hoping that those books that he read about dogs taking prolonged eye-contact as a fight didn't apply to werewolves.

Hale had, however, only bared his right (slightly sharper and longer than should be) canines at John and then give a short, commanding, growling bark at Scott to get him to stop yelling.

"If he can help us, and if I get his permission, I'll call all of you up," John said, looking mainly at Scott and Hale. Scott looked grumpy about it but nodded before crossing his arms and pouting at the ground. Hale did nothing but turn away from him.

John turned and led Melissa and Lydia up to the building.

"That was a little mean of you," Melissa said quietly, and softly, as if she were afraid of upsetting John.

"What do you mean?"

"Not letting Derek come."

"He's a fugitive. He's killed people. This building is basically the station times a thousand. He'd get arrested in a heartbeat."

"He's not a fugitive," Lydia said in a suddenly sharp voice, stepping in front of John and stopping them in the middle of the doorway. A few people gave them weird looks and no matter how constipated of a face John made, Lydia would not step out of the way. "Sheriff, he's not a fugitive. Fugitives are people who are guilty of taking an innocent life."

"Wh- Um, yeah, no, sorry, I recall the 'blue eyes' thing meaning that he took an innocent life."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Okay. He took an innocent life. When he was our age. She was suffering, though, and she asked him to end it." John made a confused face. He didn't know Hale had killed that young. And what the girl was suffering from. "And, just to be literal, the blue eyes means guilt. Like, a crushing amount of guilt. Wolves can have blue eyes and not have taken a single life. I'm pretty sure, had Derek not've already had the blue eyes, he would've gotten them after the fire, even though he never took those lives. Just because of the guilt. You already see how he still hates himself for letting that happen."

John pursed his lips. "He's still killed."

"So has Stiles."

"Don't you dare-"

"I'm just putting it into perspective, Sheriff! I'm not trying to talk bad about Stiles. None of us care that he's killed. None of us hold it against him. And he doesn't hold it against any of us."

John was now tired of listening to Miss Martin try to convince him to trust a killer, and walked around her.

Lydia huffed and followed behind him with Melissa, her high heels tapping almost with an emotion of anger of their own.

The men at the front desk gave them visitor-access key-cards after searching them for weapons and then they were sent to the elevator and they went up to the second floor.

John was right. He remembered the layout as soon as the elevator doors opened. The orange walls, the many cubicles, and then the feild-agents bull-pen. There were the stairs up to the big-boss's office, the fancy room that he and Lee were only aloud to have a peek in every once in a while.

In the bull-pen were three young agents. Twenty-something. Two men and a woman. The two men were hovering over the same computer screen while the woman was frowning suspiciously at them. Ahh, he remembers how Lee's dad's agents were. They played around and goofed off with each other, but they were good agents.

Where was Lee, he wondered.

John led the two girls behind him up to the bull-pen and the three agents all looked up at them in confusion.

"Can we help you?" the blonde woman asked.

"Yes, I'm looking for Lee," John said, glancing around.

"Lee?" one of the men said, popping up from the computer.

"You mean, Lee as in Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" the other one still sitting in his chair asked.

"Yeah, that would be the one." And now the three were looking at him suspiciously, so he plastered on a trustworthy smile. "He and I grew up together."

The three agents all shared glances between each other and John almost laughed. They acted like the kids. Acted like friends. Like family... Hell, like pack.

"Is he not here?" John asked. "I mean, I thought he was the director, but maybe he works downstairs instead, now?"

None of the agents answered. Maybe he should've brought Hale in. He could've glared them into talking in an instant.

"Johnny?" a familiar, yet different voice said from his left. John looked over and smiled when he saw the aged face of Lee himself.

"It's just John, now."

Lee looked good. Had that army hair-cut still. He was looking at John like he was a ghost.

"Boss?" One of the male agents asked guardedly, but he went ignored.

"John," Lee greeted holding out a hand when he approached. "It's been a while."

"Yeah," John said, laughing as he shook his hand. "I'd say twenty-something years is a little more than a while, though. Look at you. Beat me to the grey hair."

"I make it work."

"Sure do."

"What brings you here, John?" Lee pointedly glanced at his cane and the arm that he kept around his side.

John sighed, looking down at his side where, under his shirt, gauze was covering his whole side, since they had to cut him open to get the bullet out and fix his collapsed lung and take out his damaged kidney.

"Got shot," John said, shrugging. "By kidnappers. They took my son." John looked into Lee's eyes. "They took my son, and I need your help."

There was a pause. A stressful pause, where for a moment it looked like Lee was going to shake his head and say he can't.

But then he nodded, reached out and set a hand on John's shoulder, and looked to the agents and said, "No one tells Vance." The three all nodded and Lee walked John into the bull-pen to sit at his desk, then turned to Melissa and Lydia.

"Lee, this is my friend Melissa, and my genius Lydia," John said, and watched with a dumb smile as they shook hands.

"We do have to warn you, there's more outside," Melissa said with a sorry smile.

"Bring them in," Lee said, nodding to John. "Lucky for you, we don't have any cases at the moment."

"There's five more outside," Lydia added. "Just to clarify."

John sighed at the confused glance from Lee. "Yeah. My son has a lot of... interesting friends. As close as family, you know. I wouldn't dream of leaving them out of this, except Jackson. I'm glad he's not here. But um... I can make them stay at a hotel or something. Out of the way."

"Like I said, John, we don't have any cases running at the moment," Lee said. "They're welcome. Bishop, bring them in."

"One of them... you're gonna not trust him?"

"No one does at first, it's okay," Lydia added in, looking at her nails.

"What do you mean?" the younger guy at the desk asked. Lee's lack of reaction suggested he wanted to know the same.

"His name's Derek Hale." John noticed the guy at the computer begin typing. "He's... come from a... difficult past," John said, wishing Melissa hadn't said anything. "But! I trust him-... Well, I mean-" Lydia looked up at him sharply. John winced. "I don't, directly, but my son and all of his closest friends do trust him, so, indirectly, yeah, I trust him."

Lee rose a brow, wanting more clarification.

"He's killed people," John said quietly, to his shoes.

"But he's a good person," Melissa pushed in her "mom" voice. "And he's kept us all safe and saved our lives more than you or John knows."

John sighed.

"If you trust him, Johnny, I trust him," Lee said, giving a short little nod.

"Might want to second-guess that, boss," the older man said from the desk. Lee looked over at the two male agents by the computer and the one still sitting started typing and on the large flat-screen TV thing Derek's record popped up. His mug shot was a sad one - passive expression, eyes somewhere on the floor off to his right. It was a picture that perfectly spelled out the word "ashamed" or the word "broken", "lost", et cetra.

"He was born in Beacon Hills, California," said the man at the computer, "now twenty-four years old, wanted for suspected murder, tresspassing, vandalism, escape from police custody a grand total of fourteen times." The man's brows were up high on his forehead about the escape from police custody. Lee was now frowning in confusion, side-eyeing John like "why would you trust someone like this?"

"He-... Oh. god... Boss, his-his whole family of twelve was killed in an arson eight years ago save for him, his sister, and his uncle. The sister was killed two six later, and his- his uncle is also a fugitive, wanted for multiple accounts of suspected murder, and is currently missing."

"John-"

"Lee, just hear me out, okay? He's killed, yes, but in self defense, and in the defense of others. We have a lot of bad in our town, and the only reason my idiot son and his idiot friends are still even alive after getting involved in all of my cases is mainly because of him. I-... I do trust him," he now notices. "I trust him with my son's life, Lee."

Lee sighed deeply, shifting on his feet. Then he pursed his lips and nodded, making up his mind. "If you trust him, I trust him. Bishop, bring them in."

The blonde-haired girl stood up hesitantly and walked to the door, looking confused.

"Boss?" the male agent standing asked again, once again getting ignored.

"So you said you had cases?" Lee asked.

"Yeah. I'm the Sheriff back in Beacon Hills. Are you the director?"

"No no, I work in the field. I've got my team, that was Bishop, a new recruit, this is Special Agent Timothy McGee," the one sitting at the computer, "my tech specialist and field agent, and this is Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, senior field agent. Ducky and Palmer, my autopsists, are downstairs, and Abby is my forensics expert."

"Quite the team," John approved.

"What about yours?"

"My real team at the station? Not all that impressive. My son's friends are the main ones who help solve all my cases. Lydia is one of them - the only one I've ever met who's as smart as Stiles." Lydia smiled sharply, like she was insulted that she was only considered "as smart as" Stiles, but still grateful all the same.

"Stiles?"

"My son."

"You named your son Stiles?" Lee made a face.

"Well... no... It's a nickname that he picked... For an even worse name."

Lee huffed in amusement.

"Shit, this place looks even fancier on the inside," Erica's voice said as the elevator doors opened. "I didn't think that was possible!"

"Way better than the station," Scott muttered next.

"Heard that, kid!" John grunted. He agreed, but he still had a devotion to his crappy little station, alright?

Bishop walked out briskly, looking scarred. John would ask them later what the hell they said to her.

"I liked the station better," Isaac said to Scott.

"Suck up," Scott accused back. Isaac grinned.

"Are they gonna help us?" Erica asked urgently as she nearly ran over. John looked over to see how Hale was taking all this, and saw him scowling at all the people in the cubicles, eyes scanning the room, seemingly looking through walls - probably listening to something with his freaky hearing. Scott and Isaac were walking beside him. Isaac had his arm rested between where Hale's hand was in his jacket pocket.

"Or am I going to have to start stabbing people with my heels?" Erica continued.

"Threatening bodily harm in a building filled with cops," Boyd mumbled. Erica flapped a hand at him.

"Yes, Erica, they're gonna help us," Melissa said.

"Good," Erica said, nodding, and standing next to Lydia. Boyd wandered over to her flank.

Hale stood behind Scott with Isaac still hanging off him, still not even paying attention to what was going on in front of him.

"This is Stiles' bestest friend, Scott," John introduced to Lee, who looked to Scott.

"Sir!" Scott greeted in a bark, snapping his feet together and standing up straight, putting his hand to his forehead in a salute. Isaac laughed and followed suit.

John was most disappointed in Scott because he actually looked like he meant it.

John sighed and shook his head, and Scott frowned, easing his stance, and Melissa reached out, slapping Scott in the back of the head. He'd always seen Stiles do it, and it tends to work. Maybe it's like the equivalent to slapping a dog on the nose.

It did work, Scott pouted up at her.

Hale looked over at Isaac now and rose a brow at him. Isaac, too, had relaxed his stance, and now grinned back at Hale.

"What? Scott did it."

Hale rolled his eyes and went back to whatever it is he does when he's not paying attention to what's in front of him.

"Okay, so how soon are we going to start on this?" Lydia asked impatiently.

"Do you have anything or do we have to start from-"

"Here," Lydia cut off DiNozzo and tossed a flashdrive at him. "I got onto your Email and moved that and everything else onto there."

"How did you get on my Email?" John asked.

"Your password is literally written on your monitor at the station."

"How did you get in my office?!"

Lydia didn't answer in any other way than smiling.

"Alright," McGee said, shrugging. "Here we go."

* * *

"Could you at least tip the chair back so I can lay my head on the floor?" Stiles asked. That first night of trying to sleep in a chair left him with an awful neck-cramp. He's so not doing that again.

It was dark out. They were parked in a secluded factory parking lot. The four were getting ready to go to sleep in their comfortable beds in the back of the RV.

"Because, you know, I could just keep making noise and keep you guys up all night," Stiles warned. He got punched for it, but his wish was granted, however roughly. Rat-face kicked the chair down instead of easing it down and Stiles hit his head on the floor hard. At least he was laying down now.

"You're so considerate," Stiles mumbled to himself, wincing at all the blood rushing from his hands and legs. Oh well. It'll have to do.

"I miss you guys," he mumbled even quieter, looking out the window up at the stars, and the dark, partly clouded sky.

Each passing minute, they got closer to his "buyer", and further away from home. Further away from pack. From family.

Stiles drempt of a big pack family dinner that night. He and Melissa baked and cooked while the pack played a board-game at the table and his dad surfed through the sports channels with Derek, because in a perfect life, they'd fucking get along for once.

In a perfect life, his dad would still be alive.

* * *

"Derek, you need to sleep."

"I'm not tired! Leave me alone!"

Erica didn't leave Hale alone, however, she chased him back out to the parking lot and drug him back in the hotel.

"Dude, I don't care if you sleep or not, but you can't keep pacing," Scott mumbled from the floor.

"I'm trying to go on a fucking walk," Hale hissed, pushing Erica off of him.

"I'm trying to sleep," Lydia snapped. "So if you all would kindly shut up."

"Derek, please, just stay and lay down and go to sleep," Erica pleaded. Isaac was looking at Hale with the same wounded eyes.

"I can't!" Hale growled out, baring his teeth at Erica and pushing her off once more. "I-I..." Hale tapped angrily at his temple. "I can't! I- fucking - Damn it! Leave me alone!" Hale growled once more at Erica and then stormed out again. This time, Erica didn't try to chase him down.

"What's wrong with him?" Melissa asked quietly.

"It's a wolf thing," Erica answered softly. "Mainly, at least."

"He didn't sleep well the whole time Erica and Boyd were missing," Isaac continued.

"A dog or wolf won't sleep or eat if their mates or pups are in danger," Lydia mumbled sadly.

"Why am I not feeling that?" Scott whimpered. "Does that mean I don't care about Stiles enough?"

"A dog or wolf won't sleep or eat," Lydia repeated with a pointed tone of her voice, "if their mates or pups are in danger."

"So I don't feel that way because Stiles isn't part of the pack."

"You don't feel that way because you didn't give birth to him, bite him or marry him, you idiot," Lydia said. "It's the same reason no one else is having trouble eating or sleeping. Stiles isn't their mate, nor is he their pup or their bitten."

"But Derek didn't change Stiles," Scott said confusedly.

And finally it all made sense. The weird knowing looks of Lydia and Melissa. "He thinks Stiles is his beta! Or his wolf does at least?"

All the girls in the room slapped a hand on their face. Simultaneously. Even Isaac shook his head. John didn't get it.

"Sure, Sheriff," Erica said, rolling her eyes.

"You know, for the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, you're pretty damn oblivious," he thought he heard Lydia mumble.

* * *

"Hey, you guys want to hear a poem?" Stiles asked. The woman was driving and the three men were all playing a card game to pass the time. They had given Stiles a break from the physical abuse after he got a cut on his eyebrow from a punch that bled really bad for a while.

"No," Cowboy grumbled. "Shut up."

"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost, the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. You know who that's by? That's by the guy who write the hobbit and all that stuff. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring, renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king." Stiles grinned to himself. He always liked the last stanza of that poem. And the first one, but the second one really meant something to him.

"I'd love to watch all of you burn in a fire," Stiles mused.

"Good luck with that," Rat-face grumbled.

Ha, they think Stiles wouldn't do it.

They have no clue who they're dealing with.

He is, after all, the boy that runs with wolves. The kid who was possessed by a thousand year old evil fox spirit that fed off of chaos. He's a fox. And he knows better than anyone just how dangerous foxes can be.

* * *

Hale didn't look too good. He was twitchy. Twitchier than usual. He was stressing out the agents a little with his constant twitching.

Luckily, the agents were able to do something with the info Danny had retrieved and they rather quickly found the RV again.

They got the new license plate number and have found it at several gas stations.

Today, they had a breakthrough.

"Gas-stations near major highways now have audio-surveillance as well as video," McGee explained as he pulled up a video feed. "They also have cameras and mics at the gas-pumps instead of just inside. Finally. Abby was able to enhance the audio feed a bit. We managed to get this..."

On the screen, a video showed a woman getting out and filling the gas-tank. The camera was at an angle where they could just see through one of the campers windows to see Stiles' feet, which were tied to the legs of a wooden chair tightly.

"I'm sure someone could hear me if I screamed," Stiles' voice said, cracky and a little raw from the feed. Or, at least, that's what he likes to believe. John put a worrying hand over his mouth and watched the pups all subtly move closer to Hale.

"Then why don't you?" a man's voice - a country accent - threatened from somewhere inside the RV.

There was a pause, and Stiles' foot shifted nervously.

"Wouldn't do much good, would it? You'd just get your ass beat again," the man said.

Again.

Stiles has already gotten hit.

"Mmh, yeah. That. And I also want to meet the man who wants to buy kidnapped kids."

"Oh god," Melissa whispered.

Buying kidnapped kids?!

John rubbed his face.

"Oh, you want to meet him?"

"I mean yeah. I've got your faces on my kill-list. Now all I need is his. Wouldn't want him getting out of all this. I never forget a face, you know."

The man scoffed. "Even if you had the balls to try anything, we'd kill you in an instant. We could pick up any other of the thousand kids on the street and pretend it'd been you all along."

Stiles let out a cold laugh. "What do you mean we? It would be your little gun-sluts who'd have to kill me. I'd make sure to kill you first. And the buyer if I'm lucky."

There was a pause, and a shuffle, and John felt like he was going to explode with worry.

A man came into the picture, but it was only his legs that could be seen, and there was a painful sounding crack and Stiles made this strangled, wounded noise and he and the chair fell to the side, right in the view through the window. Now they could see him. His arms had knife-marks and his face was bruised and he had cuts, fresh and old blood on his eyebrow and temple and lip. But his eyes were open and observant and bright as ever. He was far from giving up. Still fighting. Now blood spat from his mouth as he gasped and grunted from the impact of the man's shoe in his gut.

"Oh, you bastard," Stiles groaned, blood spitting onto the floor, and blood covering all his teeth. So much blood. "I just healed from the last one. I hope I vomit on your shoes."

The man bent down and pulled him and the chair back upright roughly. They were able to see nothing but long blonde-brown hair.

Then there was the sound of someone spitting - most likely Stiles - and the man jerking and cursing, and then punching Stiles across the face again.

Stiles' harsh, crazy, almost feral laugh caught everyone off-guard. It was completely identical to the one that the Nogitsune had used.

"Oh, I'm gonna fucking enjoy watching the life drain from your eyes, you insignificant, coward, worthless waste of space!!"

The shouting caused the woman to rush back to the RV and speed off.

John had to breathe through tears. The others weren't much better off.

"The woman is Elizabeth Grady," McGee went on unhelpfully. John motioned for him to stop and he did, though a little confusedly. Melissa and Scott were hugging each other, crying quietly. Lydia was trying to wipe away tears from her mascara. Erica was hugging Boyd and crying into his shoulder. Isaac was curling up against Hale's side. And Hale...

Hale was just staring at the monitor. He looked normal, except his neck and arms were starting to tense, and he wasn't breathing.

And then he suddenly jerked, arms and neck fully tightening up, as he finally realized that he couldn't breathe.

"Oh god, kid," was all John could whisper before Derek was scrambling up with his mouth open, teeth bared, and eyes wide and panicked, falling head-first into a panic attack.

He bumped against DiNozzo's desk and paused, straining to breathe. He got a tiny bit of air in with a pathetic wheezing sound and then he was back to scrambling. Away from the pack that is, who tried to reach for him. He pressed himself into the corner of the bull-pen and tried to make himself as small as possible, fisting his hair with one hand and hiding his face with the other arm.

McGee almost said something, but John very pointedly made a cutting motion across his throat, making the motion to everyone, making sure they knew not to do anything.

Derek's panic attack lasted for about ten minutes. It was a really bad one. Almost as bad as the worst he'd seen Stiles in.

Afterwords, Derek sat there against the corner of the cubicle and stared unseeingly at the ground, unmoving, almost catatonic.

The agents went back to their thing, Lee went to Abby's lab or something to look over the video, John looked over Derek, and the pups did something to take their mind off of everything - some phone game.

Eventually, he finally moved. He slowly and heavily got up and moved over to Bishop's desk, where the pups were all camped out while she was doing something elsewhere.

He sat down heavily in their pile and immediately the pups all cuddled up to him. Derek took a deep breath of Isaac's hair and leaned back against the desk, wrapping his arms around the ones he could reach.

"Love you, Der," Erica whispered, pecking him on the cheek. Derek leaned his own cheek on her head and grunted back at her.

John glanced over at the two male agents and saw them both watching with soft looks. They were re-evaluating their earlier assumption of who they had thought was a guilty man.

John decided he should think about doing some re-evaluating himself.

About an hour later, while Derek was busy getting distracted by the pack, John snatched his phone. He'd seen him on it a few minutes earlier and wondered. Everyone always said he never ever used his phone unless absolutely necessary.

He almost wished he hadn't had butted in to his business.

The message thread with Peter Hale was opened up.

The thread was only ten messages long, and they were all only from Derek.

_> Where are you at_ sent six months ago.

_> We need to talk _ sent six months ago.

_> Made a truce with Chris _ sent five months ago.

_> Mom's birthday. Want to fucking say hi? _ sent five months ago.

_> I need help._ sent four months ago.

_> Its something called a Nogitsune _ sent four months ago.

_> Please _ sent four months ago.

_> I don't think I can do this alone, Peter. Please. I don't know what to do. I need your help. _ sent four months ago.

_> You'd better be dead! Or else I'm killing you myself! For good this time! _ sent four months ago.

_> Just had a panic attack. Stiles is gone _ sent seventeen minutes ago.

John felt sick to his stomach. He slipped Derek's phone back to the spot he'd found it.

* * *

They're getting closer and closer to their "destination". Stiles is practically buzzing with anticipation. He wants to fucking see this asshole.

He's trying to ignore those few times recently where he swore he just saw the Nogitsune and Nemeton again. He swore it had used his mouth again, saw through his eyes.

It was probably just some form of panic attack though.

That's what he's telling himself, at least.

Stiles sighed and thought of his pack. His dad. His best friend. His Alpha. His home.

"Look, he's awake," Rat-face said, walking up to him and punching him across the face for no reason, reopening his eyebrow-wound.

Stiles took a deep breath and tried to remind himself of what being calm and happy felt like.

It felt foreign.

* * *

"I'm really worried about him," Erica said the next night while the pack were in the hotel and Derek was out somewhere taking a walk or something.

"Me too," Melissa said, nodding. "But I have a feeling nothing we try to do is going to help at all."

John knew what might help: Peter.

But from the looks of things, he's not going to show up.

But of course he was wrong. Of fucking course Peter Hale shows up the very next morning.

The agents were going over what they've scrounged up, a few names that they were going to check on, the location of the RV, things like that. Melissa was back at the hotel, calling a few people she knows. The pups were taking everything better, thinking more tactically than emotionally. Lydia had been helping the agents in Abby's lab or something to identify the man that had been in the RV a few minutes ago. The kids were sitting on or against or next to Bishop's desk and Derek was with them, looking like hell - pale and shaky and tired. John had gone to the autopsy room downstairs to get his wound checked out by the doctor - Ducky. He was fine.

And then Peter Hale came walking up to the bull-pen.

For some reason, the agents seemed to recognize him or something and all pulled their guns. Peter didn't even flinch. Didn't even look at them. Just walked up to Derek, who was staring at him like he didn't believe he was actually there, held out his hand and when Derek gave him his, he pulled him up and into a tight hug.

It was strange to John to see both of the Hales being so... normal. Just hugging. It's strange to think that they're both murderers. And not human. John's still trying to cope with that one.

"I'm sorry, Der," Peter whispered and Derek buried his face in his neck, wrapping his arms even tighter around Peter. "I'm so sorry."

John sighed, deciding to trust him - for now at least, and motioned for the agents to put down the guns. They actually didn't listen. Maybe they knew him, instead of just recognizing him from the picture of him on Derek's record.

Peter took a deep breath of Derek's hair, something werewolves seem to do for comfort for themselves or something.

Lydia started tapping her foot, arms crossed and a glare fixed on Peter. The man opened his eyes and rose a brow at her over Derek's shoulder.

"Want to tell the class what the hell you think you're doing here?" she demanded.

From the limited things John knows about Peter Hale's personality, ignoring someone doesn't seem like the thing he usually does - seems to always need to retort, have the last word. Instead, though, he only closed his eyes again and pressed his face against Derek's.

"You know you need to eat, Faolán," Peter said. Derek's hands fisted into the back of Peter's shirt at the name. John wondered what it meant, and what language it was.

"I'm still pissed at you," Derek said, voice cracking a little.

"I know," Peter said with a sigh. "I gave you good reason to be."

"Everyone you meet gets pissed at you," Lydia snapped. "What. The hell. Are you doing here."

"Lydia," Derek barked into Peter's shoulder, and then his voice turned into a plead, "Just... Please."

"Look, you need to eat, Derek," Peter said, voice leaving no room for argument. "Your pups can interrogate me later. I saw this really nice resturaunt down the road-"

"You're not going anywhere, Hale," DiNozzo said. "You're under arrest for the suspected murder-"

"Oh, please, suspected?" Peter said, rolling his eyes over at DiNozzo, his familiar personality now coming back. "You guys still call it suspected? Pathetic."

"Peter," John warned, as Derek as well gave Peter a warning with his nails in his back. "Do not instigate the agents."

"Their guns are on me. Pretty sure I already managed that the second I walked through the door." John gave him a look, one he could almost call 'fatherly', and Peter actually sighed. "Look, yes, whatever murders you think I've caused, I probably did. But can you at least arrest me after we get our dear little red back?" he asked the agents. 'Dear little red'. That's not creepy at all. Though John has definitely witnessed Peter calling Stiles 'love' and 'little thing' quite a few times.

"Put your guns down," Lee said as he walked around the corner.

"But, boss!" McGee exclaimed. "This is Peter Hale."

"As much as we're concerned at the moment, McGee, he's just a visitor."

"What - why??"

"The only people Peter Hale has ever killed are bad people - people who have also killed, raped, tortured, or hurt - people we would've either locked up for life or killed as well," said Lee, and Peter looked offended that Lee was giving away his apparent dirty secret, that he was at least a little good inside. Derek pulled back and looked at Peter in the eyes with a soft expression. One that kind of looked like the look Melissa had when she saw Scott again after avoiding him for a few weeks. Peter gave him back a look like he was embarrassed and disgruntled. It was actually a little funny. "We're going to let Mister Hale prove himself to us before we decide whether to lock him up for life or not."

"Well I am by no means-" Derek put his hand over Peter's mouth and gave him a stern glare, and got an affronted one in return.

"Don't," is all Derek said. Peter rolled his eyes.

"I promise I will try not to get myself into more trouble if you promise to eat," Peter said after Derek moved his hand.

"Hey! If we're eating can we come?" Isaac asked.

"No," Derek grunted as he turned and he and Peter walked towards the elevator. The pups all looked at each other for a moment before they all jumped up and followed. Derek tipped his head back and sighed as Isaac latched onto his other arm, the rest of the pups following close behind.

"That's an interesting bunch of people you like to trust," DiNozzo said shortly, holstering his gun with a distasteful glare.

"I live in an interesting town," John mumbled, "and have gone through some interesting experiences."

Lee walked up to John and gave him a meaningful look. "I better have made the right call."

"Don't worry. I have a feeling that, like Derek, Peter means well, just doesn't know how to show it in a socially acceptable way."

Lee nodded, then shooed the agents off to talk to some suspects.

John hoped he's making the right call trusting Peter.

When John went back to the hotel that night, he found the pups all asleep on the floor and Melissa asleep in one of the beds. The Hales weren't there.

"Where's Derek and Peter?" John asked the room.

"They got a separate room down the hall," Melissa said. "He's trying to get Derek to sleep."

John nodded and got into the other bed.

"I miss Stiles," Scott whimpered into the dark, silent room.

* * *

One more day, Stiles reminded himself that morning. One more day before he gets "sold".

It's getting harder and harder to remember the happiness that he once knew. Now he's just constantly livid. Every time they hit him, he sees red. He remembers the feeling of ripping someone's heart out and has never wanted so bad to feel it again.

He wants to scream - feels like there's something dark in his chest that is just desperate to come out. But every time he tries to let out the pressure, his lungs seize up. He grits his teeth instead.

Stiles has deep, angry rope burns on his wrists and ankles, from his struggling against them. His ribs hurt. It wouldn't surprise him if one of them was cracked or something. He's got bruises everywhere. He's pretty sure his foot's broken or sprained or something from when he tried to run a few days ago. He can't move it without it hurting really bad, and can't even think of standing on it.

He's got a sickening feeling that the pack might not ever find him. He misses Scott. He misses Derek. He misses dad. He misses home.

* * *

"I take it you didn't sleep?" John asked sadly when he saw Derek the next morning. He looked even worse than yesterday.

"Where's Peter Hale?" DiNozzo asked, a little worried.

"Don't know," Derek mumbled. "He left sometime this morning."

McGee began typing furiously on his computer.

"You're not going to find him if he doesn't want to be found," Derek said tiredly, sinking down against the desk and leaning against Erica when she sat down next to him. Boyd sat next to her and Scott and Isaac took the other side of Derek. "How are your stitches?" Derek asked with his eyes closed.

"They're fine. Got them checked out yesterday," John answered.

"Check them again."

John has realized that when it comes to werewolves, when they say something that doesn't seam possible for them to know, they probably know. So John obeyed and went down to see Ducky and get checked again.

Turns out, John had ripped one of the stitches and had started to bleed again. Nothing too bad, but he had to replace them. He got to listen to Ducky talk about something random, though. It made John want to cry a bit because Ducky's random ramblings reminded him so much of Stiles.

"Just one was ripped," John assured Derek as he walked back into the bull-pen. "Nothing bad. Got it replaced and I'm all good."

"If you rip another one I'm going to punch you."

John couldn't help it. He snorted. Like, really loudly.

At first he was a little worried Derek might be offended, but he was stunned to see a small smile stretching across the man's tired and pale face.

Lydia got a text about eleven hours later. From Peter. It read,

_> There's a field about seven miles west of Jeremy Street in southern Norfolk. Sometime around five in the afternoon tomorrow is when they meet up. Im gonna be there and pretending to actually agree with what's going on so try your best not to shoot me. -PH_

Derek had paced around the office for the rest of the day, and when everyone went to the hotel, he once again stayed out all night.

John has a feeling he met up with Peter. But he did notice that it was very obvious that seeing Peter made Derek a little less guarded. He had actually smiled. And made a joke. And didn't pretend not to care about John's health.

But maybe that was just sleep-deprivat

* * *

"Today's the dayyyy!" Stiles crowed, making the four in the back of the RV groan themselves out of sleep. "Wake up, sleeping beauties! This is like sending your child off to war. You can't miss this." Cowboy and the woman walked out. "You're gonna miss me, right dick-face?" Stiles asked sweetly, and did nothing but laugh through a pained groan as he was kicked in the side. "I knew it, you softie!"

He feels like he's going insane.

Stiles couldn't stop grinning. Today was the day he might actually have a chance to get the fuck out of this situation. One of them will have a gun, and none of them will expect him to go bat-shit crazy and murderous.

He can feel that it's going to happen though.

* * *

John and the 'pups' and Melissa, as well as about six agents, watched on the large screen in the MTAC room as McGee - the person the camera was on - talked quietly with DiNozzo. They were weighing the chance that Peter was lying to them, as it was almost six now and no RVs had showed up in the field.

"Maybe we have the wrong field?" McGee wondered. "Boss?"

Lee rolled his eyes at them at the corner of the screen. "I'm pretty sure Peter Hale has no reason to lie to us."

DiNozzo snorted and turned slightly as he cut his snort off, and in the left edge of the screen, a few dozen yards away leaned against a tree, Derek turned his head and shot a positively bone-chilling glare at him before slowly turning back to the field.

Derek was the only one allowed to go because he was the closest to Peter, was older than eighteen, and didn't currently have a hole in his side. Melissa simply wasn't allowed to go with them because she's never even been trained to handle a gun before. She vowed, just an hour ago, that she's getting lessons.

"Derek's teaching me to do that glare," Erica said, grinning. "I mean, he doesn't know that he's teaching me, but I'm learning. Look. Grrr." She tried glaring at Scott and fake growling. "Are your balls shriveled up into your gut?"

"No," Scott snorted. Erica sighed dramatically.

"It's a work in progress."

Everyone stopped talking, and in some cases, stopped breathing, when a big RV pulled up.

One of the agents pulled out something that looked a lot like a fancy, tiny satellite dish. It helped them hear what was going on inside the RV.

* * *

They parked and Stiles felt like he was going to vibrate out of his own skin. He was shaking horribly, mostly from Adrenalin and rage. The other bit might be pain or blood-loss. They had kept him well fed, luckily.

"Let's go. On your feet," Rat-face demanded.

"Ha, see, maybe if you hadn't've broken one of them. It's gonna have to be 'on your foot', buddy. Sorry to disappoint." Stiles hissed in pain when the woman slapped him and then yanked him to his, ahem, foot.

"Oh no, it looks like I've forgotten how to walk," Stiles faked purposefully unbelievably as he hobbled against the wall beside the door. "What with all the long hours tied to your lovely chair. It seems I'm going to have to request some time to-" Stiles grunted as he was grabbed and tossed out the door by Cowboy as the asshole grumbled, "I don't have time for your shit today, kid."

Stiles grunted once more as he hit the ground. His hands were bound in rope (or at least that's what he wants them to believe. He untied the terrible knot a few minutes ago) so he had no way to brace for the impact. His shoulder took the fall and it hurt, but he was used to pain by now.

He reared onto his back and threw a vicious kick out, snarling, and got Rat-face in the jaw, let go of the fake knot of the rope and pushed himself to his feet, punched the woman in the face and double-looped the long rope around Cowboy's neck when he was completely off-guard. Cowboy thrashed but Stiles held tight, laughing darkly with glee of the feeling of Cowboy's breathing getting tight.

But then Techy came out of no-where with a tire-iron and Stiles let go of Cowboy just as Techy swung and yanked the tire-iron out of his hand, tried to hit him hard across the head but Techy blocked it with his forearm.

And then Stiles froze, because now Cowboy had a gun to his head.

He dropped the tire-iron and pretended to surrender, then just as Cowboy relaxed his arm-muscles, he snapped a good, snake-strike-fast punch to his nose and snatched the gun out of Cowboy's inexperienced hands and cocked it just in case it hadn't been cocked and then pointed it at Cowboy's head and pulled the trigger.

But the bullet only hit the RV because Techy had tackled him. Stiles lashed out with an elbow, getting Techy in the jaw and scrambling away, kicking at Cowboy when he tried to grab him again. Cowboy grabbed his leg and pulled and Stiles went down again, the gun firing twice into the ground before Techy grabbed Stiles' arm and wrenched the gun from his hand, pointing it at him. Stiles continued to struggle, though, and used the leverage from the ground to force his leg upwards and into Cowboy's chin. Cowboy went down, but Techy hit Stiles hard in the temple with the butt of the gun. Stiles' vision blacked out for a moment and he was disoriented just long enough for Cowboy and Techy to wrestle him to his feet. Stiles came to again and lashed out, punching Cowboy in the face and kneeing Techy in the crotch, grabbing the gun once more and pulling the trigger with it aimed at Cowboy's head. Cowboy pin-wheeled, but Stlies frowned down at the gun when nothing happened and pulled the trigger again. It was out of bullets.

"Damn it!" Stiles yelled, lashing out with the butt of the gun with all the strength and energy that he had left. Cowboy grabbed Stiles' arm and twisted it, making Stiles yell and push away. Cowboy grabbed him by the shirt and punched him hard in the face, sending Stiles stumbling to his ass. Cowboy grabbed him again, punching him three times and letting Stiles fall against the ground, groaning and seeing nothing but black and stars.

"Stop!" the woman ordered when Cowboy began kicking him in the chest and gut. "He's gonna be here any minute."

"The little fucker!" Cowboy snarled. "He tried to kill me!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby. You're fine, aren't you?" Stiles said mildly as he fought through the pain. He wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't pass out.

Cowboy kicked Stiles' foot and Stiles jerked hard, screaming as pain erupted from his foot all the way up his leg. He tried to crawl away a few feet, just to nurse his pain before he was dealt any more. But of course, Cowboy yanked him up by his hair.

Stiles felt that darkness in his chest well up again. He swears it's the Nogitsune. Some scar of it left behind or something.

Stiles snarled - humanly, sadly - clawing at his arm and scrambling on his one foot. His breathing was harsh - his foot a lot more painful than anything else he'd sustained during this fun road trip.

"Finally," the woman breathed in relief as a boring white car pulled in from the opposite end of the field. Stiles stopped struggling, resigned to his fate. He'd just have to find and kill these four after he's figured out how to kill the man "buying" him.

Stiles froze when the two got out of the car. One of them was oldish and unfamiliar, but the other was fucking Peter Hale.

At first, Stiles was going to start screaming and trying to kill the bastard, but it was because Peter was seemingly acting like he didn't actually know Stiles that he realized that this could be a rescue-mission. Maybe.

"Who the hell is this?" Cowboy snapped.

"This is a recent friend of mine," the old man said, grinning and setting a hand on Peter's back.

"Yes," Peter drawled, smiling pleasantly but sending a sharp look to the old man who immediately dropped his hand.

"He's interested in buying info-slaves as well," the old man continued.

Stiles frowned. Info-slaves. So... not working slaves or anything like that, info-slaves. Like, people who go out and get info on people? That's so dumb.

"Great," the woman said impatiently. "Here's your kid. Where's our money?"

"Wait, can I just ask," Peter said, "who do I have to talk to? To get in on this. Is it just you or can I have the pleasure of talking to someone a little less mouthy, and maybe get some deliverers that don't beat up the merchandise. This is slave-trade, not a damn pizza delivery." Stiles loves Peter.

The woman huffed, but she told Peter a few names and a few jabbing insults at him. All the while, Peter stalked around Stiles, doing a small circle and working to make the others step away, even Cowboy, who let Stiles drop to his knees and backed away. Stiles actually caught him lift the gun from Cowboy's make-shift holster on his pants and hide it under his shirt at his back. How he managed to do that with no one else noticing, Stiles was unsure of, and impressed. And damn grateful. And holy fuck, he has to teach Stiles that.

Peter's hand, while he and the woman were still snarking back and forth, came around the back of Stiles' neck and Stiles' eyes sagged shut. A tear escaped and he felt his muscles finally start to relax. Not only was that a reassuring gesture that proved to Stiles that Peter was here to save him, Peter was also draining some of his throbbing, horrible pain. He didn't even try not to lean against Peter's legs and turn his face to press against his hip and breathe in his familiar earthy scent. Stiles could never tell if it was from whatever he used to wash his clothes or if all werewolves just gave off a naturally strong scent that permeated everything. He's noticed Scott and all the other wolves smelled. Even to human senses. Not necessarily bad, just... a thick scent.

"Alright. So. The money?" Cowboy asked. Peter's hand slid into Stiles' hair for just a moment before he stepped away, walking back towards the old man he'd come with. Stiles slumped with the loss.

"I'll go get it," the old man said pleasantly.

"Mmm, no you won't," Peter said, voice drawling, and he put the gun level with the old man's head, and another pointed at Stiles' four kidnappers. The old man and Cowboy both patted furiously at their sides where their guns should've been but were now in Peter's hands. "Thanks for the information, though, sweetheart."

And then Rat-face was grabbing Stiles, but Stiles jerked back just as he yanked the knife across his neck. Only a shallow gash was dealt instead of a fatal one. But needless to say, Stiles' vision went black. That could've been death. He could've been killed by someone he wasn't happy to allow that title.

He felt the motions of grabbing Rat-face's wrist, ripping the knife out of his hand and twisting, burying it to the hilt in his chest. But the wrong side of his chest! He was a bit pissed at himself. He wanted to kill the damn guy.

Rat-face yelled in pain, pushed Stiles away and rolled around on the ground with blood spilling through his fingers.

Stiles scrambled to his feet in a fight-stance, knife held steadily in his hand dripping blood, and his vision began to come back since no one was actively trying to kill him. That's when he saw the many agents and-... and Derek running towards them.

Stiles dropped the knife and burst into sobs at the sight of Derek. That was it. He was done. He wanted to curl up and take a long nap after a big dinner. He wanted to sleep for weeks. The fight was over, safety was here, and he was fucking done.

He threw his arms around Derek's shoulders and Derek pulled him tight against him by his waist, breathing roughly against his neck, growling seemingly uncontrollably under his breath like grunts. Stiles closed his eyes tight and pressed his mouth against Derek's shoulder, tried to hold in the massive amount of tears he wanted to let free. He was shaking. Really bad. He should focus on getting to a hospital. But right now he had his Alpha. No matter how many unspoken-boundaries he and Derek were breaking right now (he kind of couldn't believe they were hugging), he needed this. Contact with his pack. Even though he's not a werewolf, it can still help. Besides, maybe he'll be able to talk Derek into doing a werewolf-mojo pain-drain.

The agents handcuffed the five and shoved them in police cars, and Peter came walking up to them after getting his guns taken away.

"What's up, Zombie-wolf?" Stiles asked casually, even though he had tears running down his face.

"Oh, the usual. How's your foot, little thing?" Peter said back, lifting his hands and laying one on the side of Derek's neck, and the other on Stiles' arm.

"Oh. You know. Maybe a little broken."

"Hospital?"

"You know, for the first time in my life, a hospital sounds fantastic."

"Derek?" Peter said softly. Derek took in a deep breath that could've only been possible with werewolf lungs, breathing in Stiles' neck. It was soothing to Stiles, knowing that his scent was at least maybe helping the guy a little. Stiles has had a suspicion that for some reason the wolf liked his scent a little more than he let on, what with all the nights he came and buried his face in Stiles' sheets when he thought he wasn't looking, or him offering up his jacket a few times, or insisting Stiles always rides with him when he can. He's played it off well, but Stiles is smart and observant.

"Yeah," Derek finally choked out before lifting Stiles into his arms bridal-style. Stiles whimpered at the pain in his foot, but sighed as it was leached away by a sneaky hand up the back of his shirt. His heavy eyes fell shut and he passed out for the whole walk to the ambulance.

Sadly, they had to wake him up to ask him where things hurt, etc. He was allowed to fall asleep again after all the questions, even through the pain of them stitching up a few cuts, putting gauze everywhere, and putting a brace on his foot.

Derek was there the whole time, shaking as he carded his fingers through Stiles' hair. Peter was there too, rubbing Derek's back and keeping a sneaky hand on Stiles' hip hidden under his shirt.

Stiles remembered saying, "I love you guys," before passing back out.

* * *

It had been a little hilarious in a twisted sort of way - the way the agents reacted to seeing Stiles expertly and guiltlessly choke that man with the rope (and laugh like he was enjoying it), and the way he fought, fearlessly tried to kill them, how he handled that knife. They obviously hadn't expected Stiles to be a killer.

John was crying horribly, even while hugging Melissa and smiling from ear to ear. Stiles was okay. Stiles was safe.

He didn't even realize that all the jumping around and crying had ripped his stitches again until his shirt started to stain through with blood.

He was rushed downstairs to see Ducky once more.

* * *

Stiles was woken up by Peter leaning in through the open door to the back of the car, running his hand over Stiles' forehead and hair, and when he opened his heavy eyes he watched Peter nudge Derek awake. He was surprisingly gentle.

Stiles had grown sort of fond of him the last time he was here. Mostly because he made Derek happy, of course secretly. The pups had said Derek just smelled different with him, a better different. Besides, Peter has his moments of being impossibly cute.

Derek seemed to be asleep, but the gentle nudge was enough to wake him up. He growled softly under his breath as he stretched a little. The tension drained from Derek's shoulders, and his arm over Stiles' waist got heavier.

"Come on," Peter said softly. "I convinced Miss Bishop to pick up food on the way back."

"Did you get curly fries?" Stiles asked hopefully.

"Yes, love, I didn't forget about your strange obsession with curly fries," Peter said smiling. Stiles cheered and reached up to pat Peter's cheek.

"You're such a good puppy dog."

"I'm so glad you think so," Peter said, rolling his eyes as he stood back up to make room. Derek was making a grumpy face, eyes resolutely still shut.

"Come onnn, Sourwolf, they have friiieees." Stiles slapped Derek's shoulder over and over as he spoke until Derek opened his eyes, and then he just stared. They were so bright. So familiar. Usually they had a scowl or a glare accompanying them, but they only had a cute grumpy look now.

"Hi," Stiles breathed.

"Hi," Derek replied, bright eyes darting over Stiles' face at a crazy speed, werewolf eyes taking in details Stiles couldn't even imagine.

"Curly fries," Stiles whispered in reminder. Derek rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it might've hurt.

"Fine."

When Stiles and Derek wrestled themselves out of the car, Stiles momentarily complaining about the Frankenstein boot on his left foot, he stopped and frowned.

"What? Where are we?" he asked. They were parked in front of a huge building, some agent lady waiting for them a few feet away with bags of food in her hands.

"Some place called NCIS," Derek grumbled, his hand wrapping around Stiles' side. Stiles didn't mind. He was used to Derek's weird touchy-feely or sometimes sniffy-ness. Though, usually, he was a bit more angry and violent when he did it. Oh well. He sure wasn't complaining. He could use some good physical contact. And something sturdy to lean on, he decided. He was tired and weak. Standing was a chore. "Somewhere in Washington DC."

"Damn. Doesn't that stand for Navy Crime Investigation Service or something?"

"Navel Criminal Investigative Service," Peter corrected.

"Semantics. I was close enough." Stiles decided, grinning and limping as they walked towards the doors. "Kinda crazy you're being allowed to walk into a huge building full of agents, though." Peter grinned, and Derek nodded mildly. "Yo, person lady," Stiles said, looking over at the woman agent. "Got my curly fries?"

"Uh," she wrestled around with the bags but eventually pulled out a cardboard cup of curly fries. Stiles cheered again and thanked her, stuffing them in his mouth. It didn't pass his notice that Derek's hand tightened ever so slightly when the woman got closer to Stiles, but he decided he wouldn't point it out. Maybe Derek's just in crazy-protective-Alpha-werewolf mode.

As they walked through the building and got their passes or whatever, Stiles stuffed his face with fries and interrogated the woman about NCIS. He learned that they were the ones who helped find him. Then she started telling him about how "the scary red-head girl" totally bonded with their super-smart forensics expert Abby. Stiles was laughing all the way through the elevator ride, because of fucking course Lydia manages to prove herself to a bunch of frigging special agents.

Stiles saw a bunch of familiar faces once the elevator doors opened. He grinned and turned to Peter and said, "Hold my curly fries. But don't eat them!"

"Don't worry, love," Peter replied, taking the fries. "I wouldn't dream of eating this crap."

Stiles grinned wider, rubbed a palm across Derek's cheek for really no reason at all but Derek seemed to appreciate it, and then took off at an awkward limping hobble towards his large group of friends which were all running at him.

It was all good and great. Until it wasn't. Damn bruises and cracked ribs.

"Careful!" Derek barked, causing everyone to immediately let go of Stiles, but the mood wasn't dampened. Scott darted in for a careful hug, Lydia kissed Stiles' face all over the place, as did Erica, Isaac ruffled his hair, Boyd squeezed his shoulder.

And then Melissa was running over and pretty much shoved everyone out of her way to grab Stiles' face and start mother-henning him. "Oh my god! All these bruises! These cuts could get infected! We need some ice over here! And some Neosporin! And bandaids!"

Once Stiles was able to shoo her off, Stiles took one look at Scott's face and laughed.

"I'm fine, dude," Stiles said, patting his pouting face. "But god, those guys were assholes. Like, Jackson-level assholes, if Jackson were himself times ten."

And then Scott started crying, and dove in for another hug. Stiles laughed at his best friend and rubbed his back while he sobbed into his neck. Scott was babbling incoherent whining words, and Stiles was snickering, and the pups were shaking their heads but their eyes were a bit rimmed with tears as well.

Stiles yawned as he rested his head on Scott's, tiredness coming back now that the excitement had died down.

"Okay, off," Derek barked, shooing Scott away and being Stiles' trusty sturdy object just as his legs gave out.

"I'm okay," Stiles tried to assure Derek who was walking him towards an open area of cubicles with his hands sturdy on Stiles' hips. "I'm just tired. I'm not gonna collapse all of a sudden." Totally a lie. "Relax."

Derek took him down to the floor with him in his lap, leaning against someone's desk. Stiles thought it was a little weird, but decided he would allow Derek to do his protective-Alpha thing and leaned against his chest, his head on his collar-bone. The pack came over and surrounded them, Scott on Derek's right and Peter on his left.

Stiles' eyes steadily got heavier once he convinced the pack that he really was fine and was just tired and they left him alone to play a card game.

He was awake, however, to hear Derek rumble softly to Peter, "You can come back..."

"Back?... Into the pack?" Peter asked quietly, voice sounding vulnerable.

"Mm-hmm," Derek hummed back. "If you want."

"Yeah, you've redeemed yourself at least a little," Stiles decided. "But one wrong move and I'll rip off your testicles."

"Good to know, love," Peter teased Stiles, a smile in his voice, as he leaned against Derek and Stiles.

Stiles hummed and snuggled in.

* * *

"Please," John begged Ducky.

"One more stitch, Mister Stilinski," Ducky said fondly. "And you really need to take it slow. You must be careful."

But finally, the older man let John up. He escorted him to the elevator and up onto the bull-pen floor. John choked on a sob as soon as he saw Stiles there, asleep in Derek's lap, who was also finally asleep. Peter and the pups were playing some sort of card-game, and it looks like even Lee's agents had joined in the game.

Peter looked up at John and then twisted around and slapped Derek's leg. Derek jumped, gave Peter a betrayed look, but then looked over and saw John and smiled. A real smile. With teeth. One John had never ever seen on the man's face before. It made him look so young and happy, peaceful, normal. Like he had a big bright home with a picket-fence and a wife and kids to go home to. Like he had such happiness in his life. It was then that John realized that Derek was really a good guy.

Derek gently shook Stiles awake while John made his way over, Ducky grabbing his arm and pulling to remind him to slow the fuck down.

John wiped away tears as he watched Stiles yawn, wiggle further into Derek's chest, and crack his eyes open, curious of why he was woken up.

And then he saw John. And his eyes went huge.

"Dad!" Stiles cried out, scrambling up with the help of Derek's hand on his elbow. "Oh my god! You're not dead!!"

John laughed and pulled Stiles into a hug, much to Ducky's displeasure with his stitches.

\-----

Later, Stiles got to meet the agents that helped his father to find him. They were really wary of him, and his dad explained it was because of how he had guiltlessly and hesitantlessly tried to kill Cowboy and nearly succeeded, and also because of all the people he decides to trust. Stiles really doesn't blame them.

But then they introduced him to Abby. In her fucking lab.

Stiles knows why Lydia loves her. Lydia and Derek and the boss-man Gibbs went with him to Abby's lab and Stiles spent a solid ten minutes just looking at everything. Abby seemed to like Stiles, it seemed, as she kept quizzing him on random things and looked proud when Stiles answered right offhandedly or spouted into long rants that Derek helped keep to a minimum of a minute or two long with a silent twitching of his face that somehow perfectly conveyed "alright, wrap it up, Stiles".

Lydia walked around with him, showing him all the gadgets with a twitchy hand on his shoulder. Derek stayed back by the door, as did Gibbs.

"Lydia," Stiles breathed after he got a tour of the whole lab.

"I know," Lydia said back.

"Lydia."

"I know."

The two both giggled at each other.

"We're such nerds," Stiles stage-whispered.

"Just means we're smart," Lydia said, tossing her hair and cocking a hip. Stiles snorted.

"Can we stay long enough to actually work through a case?" Stiles asked, looking to Gibbs who was doing some pleasant version of a stoic look. "I mean, I know you think we're just kids who get in the way, but I promise you that's only Scott and Isaac."

Derek huffed, as if offended, and everyone turned to look at him questionably. He seemed to cower a little at the attention, but said his mind anyway. "Scott is fine with plans most of the time, and Isaac is great at following orders when it counts."

"I wasn't saying they're not good Bet- uh, kids, Derek," Stiles said softly.

"I know," Derek said, rolling his eyes.

"Except Jackson. Jackson sucks."

"He's... good at..."

Stiles rose a brow expectantly as Derek made a face.

"He can..." Derek now scratched behind his ear and made an even face-ier face. "Uh..."

"Yup," Stiles said, nodding. "Jackson sucks."

"He can punch things," Lydia said, cocking a brow.

"But only when he wants to," Stiles said, snorting.

"He's a work in progress," Derek decided, looking away and leaving the conversation.

"He's got good handwriting," Stiles amended. "I'll give him that."

"Sorry, who's Jackson?" Abby asked. "I didn't think anyone named Jackson was here."

"Jackson's a grade-A douche-canoe and is currently still in Beacon Hills, because..."

"Shit-ton of detention," Lydia replied. "He wrote 'Stilinski likes dick' in sharpie on all the textbooks in Math class."

Stiles gaped, then frowned, then squinted at Lydia. She smiled.

"I'd like to think he didn't actually do that, but he would do something like that. He could manage that. He might do that. Did he really do that? Derek, is she lying?"

"Yes, idiot," Derek grunted.

"Ohthankgod," Stiles breathed.

They spent a little longer in the lab, the five of them. Gibbs never did answer Stiles' question about helping or at least witnessing a real case in action, but he didn't push. Derek continued to stand there and just watch Stiles' every fucking move. It was a little creepy, but mostly strangely comforting.

Eventually, Peter came walking in with two unfamiliar agents flanking him.

"They had to escort me," Peter said, smiling and shrugging a shoulder towards the two agents.

"I wonder why," Derek said dryly, not missing a beat and not even looking up from the counter where he's been reading a report on bullets for a few minutes now, periodically glancing up at Stiles for a few moments.

"'Sup, Creepy-Uncle-Zombie-wolf?" Stiles greeted, pulling away from a microscope with pollen-spores on it.

"Leroy's agents keep being all twitchy around me. It got annoying."

Stiles noticed Abby shying away as Peter walked up to Stiles and pressed up against his back, leaning over his shoulder. Lydia looked at him with a look of distaste as well.

"Wanna see some plant-sperm?" Stiles asked with a big grin. Peter simply looked at him with a single raised brow, his icey-blue eyes practically screaming unimpressive. "What?! It's technically a correct way to phrase it!"

"Idiot," he said, though fondly, and looked through the eyepiece. His face went through several phases. Some that Stiles really couldn't categorize, since it's been the first time he's seen the expression on his face. "Oh, that's... actually kind of cool. Derek, come here and look at this."

"No," Derek grumbled.

"Derek-"

"No."

Peter looked over his shoulder at Derek and then, after a pause and a wink at Stiles, whined a real wolf's whine. Derek's head snapped up and he glared hard at Peter with wide eyes, like it was the most horrible and betraying thing on earth. Peter did it again and Derek hissed, "Fucking-..." and stalked over. Peter cracked a grin and pulled him into where he had been standing, and Stiles bit his lip at the feeling of both the Hales pressed against him. It made his eyes want to close and made him want to snuggle up and sleep. They were warm and safe and comfy, and they smelled so damn good. Fuck, he really is adopting werewolf instincts. He's... actually not so sure if that's really a bad thing. Werewolves are great... well, most are... some are... the ones who aren't Jackson are.

"Okay?" Derek mumbled after a moment.

"Oh fuck you," Peter huffed, rolling his eyes. "It's cool."

"You think Hollywood Undead is cool."

With that, both Peter and Stiles and Lydia gaped at him.

"Smack him for me," Lydia ordered, and Derek ducked but not in time, and Stiles and Peter both slapped him in the back of the head. It actually got a snicker out of Derek. Which, what? Unheard of!

"You can't even say that. You like Hollywood Undead!" Stiles accused, still blinking a little owlishly at Derek because he had snickered. He was being playful!

"And Nickelback, Linkin Park, Green Day," Peter said distastefully, so Stiles side-eyed him and said, "Which are all bands that I also like."

"I like Linkin Park," Abby spoke up, looking a little out of place.

"Yeah! That's my girl!" Stiles said, reaching over for a fist bump, which she returned with a happy little smile.

"Oh," Peter said in a business-like tone, halting the conversation. "And I think we should get going. Sheriff's been fidgeting because the Doc won't let him go anywhere after the first stitch scare. And the pups were missing you. Erica threatened to find you guys herself."

"Yeah. Let's go. I'm tirrreeed," Stiles said, and cuing Derek to wrap his arm around his waist and help him off the stool. Stiles snorted at him and rolled his eyes, but didn't tell him to let go as he walked with Derek on his left with an arm around his waist and Peter on his right, taking the slight two foot lead in front of them and working to shoo everyone out of their way by just being there, stood tall and looking like a confident hawk in a field of mice. Stiles appreciated the safety.

"It was cool," Stiles pointed out to Derek after too long of silence as they walked. "Like a whole different world." Derek only grunted in response.

"He was never very interested in Science," Peter said in a tone that sounded like he still puzzled it even now.

"Ironic," Stiles snorted.

"Yeah, what's even more ironic is that he liked English best."

Stiles laughed hard, and it hurt really bad, but it was totally worth it. Totally worth the embarrassed glare Derek shot to both of them as he tightened his hand on Stiles' hip, probably in response to the smell of pain wafting from him.

"Oh, Derek," Stiles sighed as he finished his laughing fit.

"Shut up," Derek grumbled. It only made Stiles laugh again, replaying the new information in his head.

"Stiles," Scott said when they walked out into the open area. "Dude, you have cracked ribs."

"By now I'm pretty used to pain."

"Don't say things like that," Scott said with a pout, coming up and curling into a hug against his side.

"Stiles," his dad said, hobbling over with his hand over his side.

"Sup, daddyo?" Stiles said, pressing the side of him that wasn't occupied by a clingy-Scott-monster into his father's and getting a gentle arm around his shoulders. Peter and Derek followed them back to the bull pen.

"Where's Lydia?" Erica asked.

"Still with Abby. Who is awesome, by the way," Stiles answered, scenting Scott across the back of the neck before breaking away to hug her once again and scenting her the same. "She's like a me and a Lydia and a Derek mixed together."

"No," Derek replied seemingly off-handedly but in a tone that promised death if challenged.

"Whatever. Minus the Derek, then. Her awesome black gothish look has nothing to do with Derek."

Derek rolled his eyes. Peter smirked.

"We're leaving once she gets back," his dad decided. "For food and sleep."

"You're leaving?" Agent Gibbs asked, walking up behind them with Lydia.

"It'll take a day or two to get the flight back home, so I could stop by tomorrow to say goodbye officially," said dad as Stiles got passed off to Scott again and was joined by Isaac.

Gibbs nodded, shifting between his feet and looking passively over the large group of people behind Stiles' dad, though his eyes gave away all the details he was processing.

"You're like a nicer version of Derek," Stiles decided, snapping and pointing at Gibbs excitedly.

"Oh my god, he's right!" Erica gasped after a moment of consideration, eyes huge and gaping between Gibbs and Derek.

Derek made a constipated look. "What?"

"You're both quiet," Lydia said.

"Keep a lot of things to yourself and have silent conversations with people who're close," Erica added.

"Devastating attractiveness," Lydia said next, making Gibbs smile a little embarassedly.

"Hyper-vigilance, I believe, is the word you've used," said Erica.

"Loyal to the end," Stiles' dad said with a shrug, wearing a small smile.

"And the eyes," Stiles stage-whispered.

"I don't see it," Scott mumbled, making a face.

"I totally see it," Isaac said.

"Comparing our boss to a fugitive-"

"Quiet, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, and DiNozzo huffed.

Gibbs was giving Derek a calculating look, sharing glances with Stiles' dad. Stiles bit his split lip and cursed when he made it start bleeding again.

"Derek," Gibbs said formally, holding out a hand to him. Derek gave him a squinted-eye look before hesitantly meeting the man with a hand-shake. "Peter Hale," Gibbs said next, and Peter acted reasonably non-creepy as he met the man as well with a hand-shake with a smirk. "Stiles."

"Boss-man," Stiles greeted back pleasantly, shaking his hand as well. Gibbs smiled at him. "Hey, thanks for helping all of my socially-awkward and other-wise incapable-of-normality challenged friends." Gibbs gave a little nose-huff that Derek sometimes did. It was their version of a hearty laugh. Stiles grinned huge. "Oh my god, you really are Derek," he whispered in awe.

"Love-"

"Yes yes." Stiles waved Peter off. "Bye agents!"

* * *

"Oh my god man, I had to listen to their shitty rap music the whole fucking drive," Stiles explained. "Leave that on."

Derek huffed in amusement and moved away from Scott's speaker and phone that Stiles had snatched from him at some point, which was playing Pandora.

The pups and the real adults were still on their way to the hotel. Derek, Peter and Stiles had gotten there first, because Derek doesn't know how to drive without speeding.

Stiles lowered himself onto the bed carefully while Peter grunted as he flopped down next to him, throwing an arm under his head. Stiles pressed his leg against Peter's. The man was fucking warm and the AC in the hotel was giving Stiles the shivers, but he wasn't going to ask to turn it off because he's learned his lesson on sharing a room with a werewolf without AC. Their insane body heat literally warms the room up.

Derek sat down next to Stiles' side, frowning at whatever he could smell under his shirt. He gently picked up one of Stiles' wrists and scowled at the deep, angry rope-marks.

"I'm okay, Derek," Stiles assured him, knowing that it was the truth.

Derek only frowned harder and then his eyes found his neck and a growl rattled in his throat. He reached forwards and Stiles tipped his head back for him without really thinking.

"See? It's already scabbed over," Stiles said breathily as Derek traced his fingers over the knife-mark. Stiles' eyes fell closed and his mouth parted a little as Derek then began to trace over his whole neck slowly and so light it almost tickled. Stiles let out a slightly shaky breath.

See, Derek is hot. And he's adorable sometimes, and the scariest thing ever other times. Stiles has had a crush on the dude for a long while, now, but has just come to ignore it since he's positive Derek doesn't like him back that way.

And now Derek is touching him. Even Derek throwing him into a wall made him frustratingly hard. But now Derek was touching him gently. And he was touching his neck.

Stiles has picked up a few werewolf pet-peeves. A guy he didn't like had touched his neck a few months ago and Stiles had punched him in the face.

Derek touching his neck made arousal spread through his body so fast and so violently his head got a little light.

"Derek," Stiles whispered, more than a little embarrassed, and he moved his head, pushing Derek's hand away.

Then Derek pushed up Stiles' shirt and snarled at all the recent bruises and all the old scars. The many old scars that were jagged and horrible looking that Stiles always tried hard to keep secret from everyone. Derek and his dad are the only ones who have seen them, ever.

"Damn it, Stiles!" Derek snapped, jumping to his feet and starting to pace again, pulling at his hair. "You're human!" He came back over and pointed angrily at Stiles. "You need to stop getting hurt!"

Stiles could only snort at him. "You know that's not going to happen."

A sound that almost sounded like a whine left Derek's mouth. "Just... go take a shower," he ordered, pointing towards the bathroom.

"Sure thing, Alpha." A shower actually sounded awesome. He hadn't had one in days. He's sure he smells horrible to sensitive werewolf noses.

Showering was a little painful. He had to take off his boot so his foot was just kinda dangling there a little disconcertingly. He ended up taking a cold shower so that the hot water didn't sting his many cuts. The water was stained a nasty brown-red for the first few minutes, but once the blood was gone he felt relatively clean. He was careful with the soap - kind of gave up on his arms with it.

His ankles had rope-marks as well, though they were a little less bad. Just tender. Nothing too bad. His wrists were a completely different story. And his arms. And his chest looked like he went swimming in a pool of blue and purple and green paint. He was a canvas and the artist was life.

Once out, he brushed his teeth for about ten minutes, and then dressed back up in his dirty clothes with a distasteful frown.

Stiles walked out of the bathroom and was about to ask Derek and Peter if the pack had showed up yet, but Derek looked up from where he'd been pacing and snarled at Stiles.

"Get those damn clothes off! You showered to get rid of that fucking smell!"

Stiles put his hands up in surrender, a little more than eager to keep on the angry werewolf's good-side.

"Would you like to lend me some of your clothes?" he asked Derek, voice soft and as soothing as he could manage.

"Don't have any spare changes," Peter mumbled from the bed.

"Take. Them. Off," Derek growled impatiently, and Stiles did so, if not a little (lot) self-consciously.

Once the clothes were off, Derek snatched them out of his arms and threw them in the trash-can by the door and cut off Stiles' protests by getting all up in his face and sniffing him. He growled once more.

"Shower again."

"Oh, come the fuck on, Derek-"

"Just do it, love," Peter said calmly. Stiles sighed and turned and walked back into the bathroom.

"And don't use their damn soap," Derek commanded.

"I won't," Stiles assured him as he hopped back under the spray.

Once out and dried off again, he found that his underwear that he had set on the toilet were gone as well and were replaced by either Peter's or Derek's. He put them on and found that they were still warm.

Hello again, boner.

Stiles sighed and wished he could at least cover up a bit more.

"Can I at least have one of your shirts? We all know you guys don't even like wearing them," Stiles said as he poked his head out of the bathroom.

Peter pushed himself up from where he had been laying on Derek's back on the bed and pulled off his shirt, holding it out for Stiles to take.

Stiles walked out, put on the warm shirt, and then obeyed when Derek scooted over closer to Peter to made room for Stiles and patted the empty spot at his chest. He layed down carefully, and even more carefully Derek rested his hand on Stiles' chest where Peter's v-neck sagged.

Black veins pulsed through Derek's hand and up his arm and the pain lessened somewhat.

"Derek, you don't have to-"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

A pause

"Hey Derek?"

A long sigh. "What?"

"Can we pull the blanket up?"

Peter was the one who responded, however, and tossed the blanket up to Stiles' stomach.

"Thanks."

"Mm-hmm," Peter hummed back, his arm wrapping snug around Derek's waist, shifting around until he was tight up against his backside.

Stiles would think this was weird... if he didn't battle demon-hell-spawn-man-eating-selkies and other deadly creatures from fairy-tales and shit on a regular basis. A cuddle with the Hales? Hell, that's the most normal thing that's ever happened to him.

"Stop thinking," Derek whispered into his shoulder.

"Sorry."

Stiles closed his eyes and relaxed.

He fell asleep within seconds.

* * *

"It's not fair!" Scott whined. "Stiles can sleep fine with us! Why do Derek and Peter get to have him?! I don't even trust Peter! How can Stiles?!"

"Scott," Melissa started, but Scott kept going.

"And it's just not fair! Stiles is as much ours as he is theirs, if not more! Fuck Derek for taking him! He got to drive him here and he got to see him first when we found him, and he got to follow him around the building, why the hell can't he share with us?!"

Lydia cleared her throat. "I'm going to repeat something I've said several times before... A dog or wolf won't sleep or eat if their mates or pups are in danger." It sounded like a fucking prayer by this point, John thought to himself.

"But Stiles isn't in danger anymore!" Scott protested.

"Which is true, and for any other werewolf, everything would be fine by now, but this is Derek we're talking about. He won't believe Stiles is safe until he stops smelling like pain, or until he's fully recovered, or something equily stupid."

"Well screw him! Just because Stiles doesn't look fine yet doesn't mean he can-"

"Oh for the love of god, Scott, Derek won't sleep or eat until he thinks that he's done needing his help!"

"Ugh! I just don't get it! He was never this over-protective when Erica and Boyd went missing! No offence, guys."

"He did eat and sleep, yes, but not well," Boyd said.

"And yes, with Stiles going missing, it's like he totally shut down. Far cry away from how he reacted to us," said Erica next.

"But that's because," Lydia said, and then her, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Melissa said all at the same time, "a dog or wolf won't sleep or eat if their mates or pups are in danger."

"Do you know what that means, Scott?" Lydia asked.

Scott rolled his eyes. "That Derek's a weird, selfish born-wolf who thinks Stiles is his 'pup' for some reason. We already knew that."

The girls all made various sounds of exasperation.

"For fucks sake! Stiles is Derek's mate," Isaac exploded, shaking his fists in the air. "Why am I the only guy who knew this?!"

"I knew," Boyd mumbled.

"Whoa whoa whoa," John interrupted, putting his hands up. "Stiles is Derek's what now?"

"Mate," Melissa answered. "Like, Derek loves him."

"Except it's even more than that," said Erica. "It's like... Not just love. For me, it's like, yeah, I love Boyd, but he's it for me. If he dies... I will never feel attraction towards anyone ever again." The two shared a soft look. "It's like I'd give my own life to make sure he's okay. If I were in Derek's situation, I would've gone insane. Boyd's my anchor. I don't even know how Derek did it without Stiles there. I mean, I know he was telling the truth when he told us his anchor was anger all those years ago, but it came up again a few months ago and Derek went all quiet... Anchors change."

"Derek's not in love with Stiles," John insisted. "Have you seen the way he treats him?"

"Have you seen the way he treats us?" Isaac shot back, raising a brow.

"He treats Stiles worse than he treats you guys."

"Probably because he has some stupid guilt-complex over the whole thing," Melissa said wisely. "Kate..."

Everyone, even John, flinched at the name. The room fell silent and everyone immediately understood. Kate was way older than Derek at the time. And the last person he tried to love. And then Stiles, who's a good five years younger comes along...

"Damn," John mumbled.

"I'm pretty sure he's been in love with Stiles for years," Isaac said, scratching his jaw. "He probably only realized it within the past year or so, and has been trying to deny it since then."

"Stiles' life gets threatened all the time," Scott pointed out, much to John's displeasure. "Why is it only now that he goes all crazy?"

"Probably because it was so out of his hands," Melissa said. "Stiles was being taken to another state."

"And usually Stiles has a little trick up his sleeve, giving us coordinances or a name or something else sneaky, or we at least know who might've taken him," Lydia said. "This time, we had nothing. Absolutely nothing, and we lost the trail quick."

"Besides," Erica added, "It's one thing when it's a werewolf kidnapping an Alpha's mate - for leverage. They probably wouldn't kill Stiles because that would cause a whole damn war. But then some random humans take Stiles and don't even stick around? End up shooting the Sheriff?"

It went quiet.

"Does Stiles know that he's Derek's mate?" Scott asked.

"Nope," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "Because he's oblivious and has self-esteem issues, and Derek is probably ready to take the secret to his grave."

"Does Stiles... like Derek back?" John wondered.

"Stiles got over his crush on me for him," Lydia said.

John made a noise of wonder. That is something pretty damn powerful.

"And you're sure that Derek-"

"He went on a plane for Stiles," Melissa said, cutting John off.

John rolled his eyes. "It's a plane."

"I know for a fact that Derek has never ridden on a plane before," Isaac said, "and that all born-wolves are absolutely petrified of them."

"Why?"

"Wolves don't have wings for a reason," Lydia said. "They live for the trees and Earth - Born-wolves have an actual connection with it in some complicated magical way. It's like how horrified you would be to go diving without an oxygen tank or anything."

A long pause.

"I still think he's being selfish," Scott grumbled.

"Go to sleep, everyone," Melissa ordered, and everyone curled up and quieted down.

* * *

Stiles woke up from a knock on the door.

"Hmgh?" he grunted towards the door, as if that would answer his question of who the hell was there. He made to get up, but Peter pushed him back down and hopped gracefully over he and Derek. Who, of which, was currently being a cuddle-wolf-monster and was completely glued to his side. Stiles looked down curiously and saw that even though Derek seemed to be asleep, his veins were still black in his hand, and Stiles was blissfully pain-free.

Stiles pressed his cheek against Derek's head, thankful, and carded his fingers through his thick blue-black hair.

Stiles watched curiously as Peter opened the door, cocking his head slightly at the young woman - oh, Bishop! What's she doing here?

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" Peter asked pleasantly, though his voice - to the trained ear - had a sort of under-tone warning to it because Peter was ever the psychopath.

"Um... Actually, yes, I- uh, we were hoping you could... uh... help..." she stammered.

"With what, pray-tell," Peter went on, cocking his head the other way, looking down at her with amusement.

Her eyes finally left the wall/door/floor/Peter's bare chest, and found Stiles who had a werewolf-blanket on him. Well, she didn't know he had a werewolf-blanket. She only knew he had a super-hot-and-adorable-tall-dark-handsome-and-mysterious-man-blanket.

"Um..." She made a confused face and looked back at Peter. "The guy? Henry Paul?"

Peter raised a brow at her hopeful look when she paused. "Yes."

"Wha- who? I don't. Know who you're talking about, that is," Stiles said curiously and tiredly. "Which one?"

"The one who was trying to buy you," Peter said, looking at Stiles over his shoulder and doing this thing with his mouth - some smirk - that was both adorable and insanely hot.

"Yeah," Bishop said when Peter gave her his attention again. "He's uh. Gone."

"Well, that's hardly my problem."

"Yeah, but you were able to find him the first time and I- uh, we were hoping you could find him again?"

Peter rose his brow again, smirking. "Your team doesn't know you're here, do they, sweetheart?" he said in a quite psychopathic way/tone. Way to sound like you're thinking of killing her, Peter.

Bishop paled. Like, significantly. And she took a paranoid step back.

"Yeah, they do. They-"

"Don't lie to me."

"I-..." Bishop looked like she was ready to run for her life.

"Peter," Stiles said scoldingly.

"I'll see what I can do," Peter finally said. "Since you asked... so kindly." Peter smirked at her one last time before turning and walking up to Stiles. "Gonna need my shirt back, love."

Stiles whined, but started pulling at the hem.

Peter took over since Stiles was making little progress and had to push Derek off of Stiles in order to get the damn shirt off. Derek had let out a growl and grabbed Peter's arm out of reflex, but Peter barely reacted, and once Derek understood that Peter was not a threat, let go, only to grab him again when he saw Bishop standing there in the doorway.

"What the hell is going on," Derek snapped, glaring hard at Bishop.

"Bad guy got away," Stiles explained. "Peter's gonna hunt him down."

Derek slowly relaxed, but still looked anxious.

"I'll be back before you guys leave for Beacon Hills," Peter reassured before kissing Stiles on the forehead and Derek on the side of the neck and then he walked out of the door and it was just Stiles and Derek.

Stiles pursed his lips and looked at the digital clock on the bed-side table which read 2:47 am.

"You wanna go back to sleep?" Stiles asked Derek.

"No," he replied, even as he gently laid his head back down on Stiles' shoulder.

"Yeah, me neither..." he mumbled, setting a hand in Derek's hair again and getting a soft rumble that only worked as an encouragement of the hair-petting to Stiles.

They were both back to sleep within the next three minutes.

* * *

"Okay, it's nine o'clock! Everyone up!" Melissa crowed.

"Uuuuuggghhhhh," Scott grumbled.

"Up up!"

"But I don't wanna," Erica whined.

"If you get up you can see Stiles."

Everyone was instantly awake and rushing for the door. Melissa grinned and gave John a high-five.

They rushed over to the Hales' and Stiles' room and, instead of knocking like normal people, Isaac held up a key-card as if it were a proud trophy, announcing he had stole it from Derek, which for some reason got him a lot of 'ooh's and 'aah's and slid it into the electronic card scan-y read-y thing and opened the door to a dark room.

"The fuck, guys?" Stiles whined somewhere in the darkness.

"Language," John uselessly mumbled while a lamp by the bed was turned on. Stiles blinked at them blearily while Derek stayed peacefully asleep on his chest. It was cute... in a disturbing way.

"Puppy-pile!" Scott screamed, making Derek's eyes snap open bright red.

"You woke him up!" Stiles complained while Scott dove over the two, joined quickly by the rest of the wolves.

"You better fucking be careful!" Derek snarled as he created a protective cage around Stiles.

"I'm fine," Stiles assured him as he encouraged the pups to crawl all over them, giggling.

John and Melissa and Lydia all stood there, watching with amusement. Well, John was more a little disturbed, knowing now that Derek, an adult, fugitive, Alpha werewolf and murderer, was in love with his son. And was sleeping with him. Closely. While Stiles had no shirt.

Lydia laughed when someone (John had no idea who. There were so many limbs all over the place) kicked Stiles' foot and made him hiss in pain and Derek, in response, growled loud with his full, sharp teeth bared, and pushed everyone off the bed in one single move.

"Okay, dude, I know you're in protective-Alpha mode, but a little bump is not enough of a big deal to-"

"Shut up," Derek interrupted, glaring at Stiles. Stiles rolled his eyes, but patted his head anyway.

"Yes yes, cuddle-wolf. Thank you for saving me from our rowdy pups."

Derek gave him a squinted-eye glare before turning his attention to the pack.

"Why are you all here."

"Oh, stop acting all grumpy. We can all smell the happiness on you," Erica mumbled, and Derek shot a glare at her next.

"Cuz it's nine and our flight is at noon," Scott mumbled from the foot of the bed.

John watched in amusement as Derek's face quickly turned a sickly color. "Flight," Derek mumbled, swallowing. "Right."

"You'll survive," Erica said, patting his shoulder.

"Hey, where's Peter?" John asked.

"He went... somewhere," Stiles said, flapping a hand. "Doing his thing, I guess. He said he'd meet up before we left, so..."

Derek sighed and flopped back down onto the bed, putting his back to everyone and pulling the sheets all the way up over his head. Melissa grinned, and even John smirked. Derek was acting a little less guarded, even he noticed.

"You two gotta get up so we can all eat," Lydia said impatiently, though fondly.

"Not hungry," Derek mumbled from under the blankets.

"I am," Stiles said helpfully, slapping at Derek's back. "Come onnn, does it make any difference if I'm hungry, Mister Alpha-man?"

Derek sighed.

"Let's go," Isaac whined, and Scott pulled the blankets all the way off the bed. Stiles yelped, and so did some of the boys, because Stiles had nothing but underwear on. Ones that weren't his, John noticed with a grimace.

"Why are you naked?!" Scott whined, covering his eyes. Derek snarled and pulled the blankets back up, as if he were protecting Stiles' virtue or something.

"Because his clothes smelled like them," Derek grumbled.

"Okay! Who wants to go with me to get Stiles a pair of clothes?" Lydia announced.

Erica and Boyd left with her, and the rest of the pack sat around and waited.

A while passed.

"So is it you or Peter that's going commando right now?" Stiles asked Derek with a sly grin. Derek looked down at Stiles and huffed in amusement, rolling his eyes.

"Gross, Stiles," Scott said, making his 'sad puppy' face.

* * *

"Not too bad for seven bucks, I guess," Stiles mumbled as he examined his new outfit of black converses, green cargo-pants, and a blue-white textured shirt with a blinding yellow-orange-red-blue plaid over shirt. "My kind of outfit. You know me well, Lyds."

"It hurts my retinas to look at you," Isaac griped.

"Perfect!" Stiles crowed, throwing an arm up, and then wincing at the twinge of pain in his ribs. Derek made an angry face and jumped to his feet but Stiles huffed and pushed him back down, grabbing both his cheeks. "Derek, I. Am. Fine. A little pain isn't the end of the world, dude."

Derek huffed out a growl and pulled his head out of Stiles' hold. Which was honestly a step-up from the claws to the neck Stiles was expecting from that un-thought-out move.

"Come on. Food time," Melissa said after a pause of silence that Stiles didn't quite understand the reason for.

After eating at an amazing restaurant even though Stiles got stared at a lot for the bruised and cut everything, they all headed to the NCIS building, where Stiles gave hugs to Abby and John shook the autopsist - Ducky's - hand with a familiarity.

Lydia also said bye to Abby, because of course.

The agents shook John's hand, and Stiles', and even gave a terse respectful nod to Derek, who returned it somewhat nicely.

When Agent Gibbs arrived out of no-where, he and John shared a hug and a few words, and he walked over and... gave Derek a hug. Stiles was gaping at Gibbs - who had the balls of steel to do such a thing?! - and Derek just sort of stood there with a deer-in-headlights expression, tense as a... something that's really fucking tense.

Stiles' dad snorted rather loudly. Melissa was hiding a laugh behind her hand. The pack looked a little stunned and maybe even a little vengeful? Like, 'how dare this stranger touch our Alpha without his consent?!'

Stiles ended up laughing his ass off at the absurdity of it.

"Shut up, Stiles!" Derek griped as soon as Gibbs let go and stepped away.

"Dude, you're so socially constipated!" Stiles snorted.

Derek bared his teeth at Stiles in a silent snarl and shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets, glaring at the ground and curling into himself a little.

"Aww, Der, we all know you love hugs," Erica purred, stalking towards him.

Derek only had time to squint at her and say, "I will rip your-" and then he was being hug-attacked by the Betas. Minus Boyd. Because Boyd is boring. Stiles thought he heard Derek snarl something like, "not here!" but Derek didn't really put up much of a fight. Once he had just given up, he huffed and dropped his chin onto Erica's head, scowling at the wall across from him on the other end of the floor, even though Stiles could see the contentedness in the way Derek's shoulders slumped, finally relaxed.

"Taking a picture. Derek! Smile!" Stiles said, holding up his father's phone, which he had snagged from his jacket pocket. Derek did not smile. He did make an adorable grumpy face, however, and it was nearly just as good.

"How'd you get my phone?!" his dad exclaimed, as if it had happened another time recently.

"You were distracted," Stiles said to defend himself as he handed back the phone.

Gibbs gave an amused smile to his agents to get them to relax a bit.

Derek's head tilted and he looked towards the elevator before shaking off the pups.

"Peter here?" Stiles wondered, since it was the only thing that made sense.

Just a moment later, the elevator opened and in came The Glorious Peter. With his hand wrapped around both the old-guy's wrists behind his back. Blood pooled down Peter's shirt from his shoulder to his waist. Peter had either been stabbed or shot or something.

"Your security is really shit," Peter said as an opening as he approached. He actually sounded put out about it, or personally offended.

"Call Ducky," Stiles heard Gibbs say to one of his agents before they got on the phone. Probably because Peter is currently bleeding down to his fucking waist.

"What did you do to the security?" Lydia wondered, and Peter threw an arm up, exasperated.

"Nothing! One look and they wouldn't even fucking touch me."

The pack rolled their eyes at Peter. Even Stiles did. Derek was a little more focused on the threat, at the moment. Was already walking over to Stiles, putting himself between him and the old guy.

"Are you okay?" Gibbs asked quietly, eyeing all the blood.

"Hmm? Oh, It's fine," Peter said. "He's a lousy shot."

"What'd you do back to him?" Stiles asked, curious, because the old guy didn't have a mark on him and knowing Peter, he wouldn't just let that go.

"Oh." Peter grinned wolfishly. "This."

"No!" the old guy shouted just before Peter grabbed the back of his neck with two fingers. At first it just seemed weird, but then the old guy shouted silently and jerked and collapsed in a twitching mess.

"Ah. Pressure-points in the nervous system can cause temporary paralysis or loss of motor-control," Ducky noted as he walked up. Peter clicked his tongue and snapped at him, in a 'correct' motion, winking.

The old guy caught his breath and made to push himself back up but Peter stomped his foot down loud an inch from old-guy's fingers and said, "Stay down," in a surprisingly sexy growly tone. The old-guy wisely obeyed.

"That's impressive," Lydia said.

"You gotta teach me that, dude," Stiles said in wonder.

Stiles' dad sighed and rubbed his face.

"Mister Hale," Ducky said, waving a hand towards himself.

"Oh, come with me," Peter requested as he stepped over the old man, reaching towards Derek and Stiles.

The four of them went downstairs to the basement and Derek and Peter both wrinkled their nose upon entering the autopsy room. Stiles didn't smell much more than unpleasant disinfectant, but given what goes on in here, he really doesn't want to know what the Hales can smell.

Peter hopped up on one of the metal operation table thingies and smiled at Ducky and said, "Patch me up, Doc. I promise I won't bite."

"Really," Stiles said, unimpressed as Derek rolled his eyes.

"Actually," said Ducky as he gathered things he would need to stitch Peter back up, as if he were about to go into a story. Ohhh, Stiles' dad told him about this. Stiles can't wait to hear one of Ducky's stories. His dad had gotten one about a woman who swallowed the SD card of her phone to aid her murder investigation. "I once had a patient who bit me. The strange thing was that she was dead..."

Ducky's story had turned into five, and by the end of it, Stiles was deeply intrigued, Peter was leaned back on his hands with his eyes closed, relaxed, and Derek had at some point managed to convince Stiles to lean against him instead of the table behind him without him noticing. Derek's hands were resting where his thumbs hooked in the beltloops on Stiles' waist and his nose was lightly brushing Stiles' hair, his breathing deep and slow. Stiles absolutely loved over-protective-Alpha-mode-Derek.

"You should be my best friend," Stiles said once Ducky had finished. "Screw Scott. You're awesome."

Ducky chuckled and shook his head. He had finished with Peter's wound around the end of the first story, but obviously didn't find the need to stop. "Scott is your best friend? Is he, perhaps, the one with the displaced jaw?"

"Yup. That's Scotty. Though, he's sensitive about his jaw. We describe him as the idiot with puppy-dog eyes and a total mop of hair."

"Accurate," Ducky noted. Stiles laughed.

At that point, the air-pressured doors slid open and everyone looked over. In came Abby!

"Oh! Abby! Hey! You should be my best friend too."

Abby smiled, chuckled a little. "Your father said, and I quote, If you don't get your asses up there right now, he'll ground you from your place as the researcher for five months."

Stiles frowned, and Derek made a small noise in the back of this throat.

"He can't do that," Derek mumbled. "Can he?"

"If he takes away my laptop and books," Stiles said, frowning harder. "But he wouldn't be serious."

"Pretty sure he'd be doing himself a favor, keeping you away from cases and therefore danger," Peter said, cocking his head. "It's likely he's serious."

"Damn," Stiles whined.

While Ducky went to retrieve Peter a clean, plain white shirt to wear, Stiles got Abby's and Ducky's phone-numbers and Emails, and got another hug from Abby, too.

"It's not a v-neck," Peter complained, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

"You'll live," Derek mumbled.

"You'll live," Peter mocked in an obnoxious voice. "What would you do if your only option was a neon yellow shirt? Huh? You'd die."

"You know what," Stiles interjected. "I honestly don't know how you would function if you had to wear colors."

They were already in the elevator at that point, Ducky and Abby too.

"I plan not to find out," Derek said simply.

"I'm already formulating a plan... Is formulating a word?"

"Yes, it's a word. Congratulations. You better not try anything or I will break your neck."

"Oh please, Der, you know none of your threats scare anyone who actually knows that you're a total puppy-"

"Don't call me that-"

"And I'm not going to try something... I'm going to succeed in a perfectly planned out prank which may or may not include the rest of the idiots." And then Stiles cackled evily.

Derek looked over at him with an amused but unimpressed look

The elevator dinged and opened and Stiles made sure he was the first one out.

"I'm sorrrryyyy, daaddd," Stiles whined when he saw his dad's upset face.

"It's my fault," Ducky said, taking the blame. "I got caught up telling him some stories."

"Well, as long as it's not Stiles' fault," his dad said and Stiles gaped at him. "See you around, Lee, and thank you so much for the help," he said, shaking Agent Gibbs' hand once more.

"No problem," Gibbs replied.

When Stiles got over to the group, Lydia lovingly slapped the back of Stiles' head, and got a growl from Derek for it. Stiles stopped walking and turned around to face Derek, and then slapped the idiot on his head. He got a betrayed look, and simply rose a brow, putting his hands on his hips.

"I am not going to suddenly break, despite how frail I may seem."

Derek opened his mouth, like he were going to say something, but stopped himself and huffed, turning away and getting pulled off by Peter to talk in private.

Stiles and the pack said goodbye again to the agents, and then left once the Hales returned.

"We get Stiles," Scott said determinedly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Why doesn't Stiles' dad get Stiles?" Stiles' dad said.

"How about we let the Alpha have Stiles," Lydia said in a tone that suggested she were not going to let anything other than that happen. To which Stiles wondered why.

"Or why don't we let the Stiles chose who Stiles wants to drive to the airport with?" Stiles suggested. Everyone looked at him expectantly so he turned to Derek. "I know you're being all Alpha-y and whatnot, but it's just a half-an-hour drive." Derek's face fell, and Stiles' heart made this weird clenching throb. "I- like, I'm really sorry, but I'm gonna ride with my dad, because, you know, he got shot. And I thought he was dead." Derek nodded sadly, shoulders slumping and eyes on the ground. "Oh my god, Scott, he does the wounded puppy-dog thing better than you. My heart is actually breaking, Derek, come on, buddy," he whined, body itching to throw himself at Derek and give him a big hug for some reason. It just looks like he needs it. He was such a secret cuddler at night, and if that's just the position his body takes when he's asleep and not consciously trying not to, that means that maybe that's what he wants always? Right?

Derek's face closed off again into a scowl and he gritted his teeth, rubbing his face as he walked to the car he's going to drive, growling something that sounded like "Damn wolf."

Peter smiled softly at Stiles, almost mournfully on Derek's behalf? Then he got into the passenger seat and a moment later the car was backing up roughly and zooming out of the parking lot in a way that made anger as obvious as it would be on a face or in words.

Stiles wondered what the hell he did wrong. At one second, Derek was just disappointed, then angry?

Ahhhh, damn wolf. His wolf was making him feel the over-protective-Alpha instincts and he was embarrassed or angry about it.

Stiles sighed.

Oh well.

"That was the longest half-hour of my life," Stiles' dad complained as he stepped out of the car. They were in the car-rental-return part of the airport because, well, they had rented cars.

Scott had ended up riding in the car with Stiles and his dad and Melissa, so, inevitably, a debate broke out. This one specifically about several things about werewolves: instincts, senses, myths and origin, and mating habits.

The two had no idea why they decided it was imperative that they discussed it, but holy hell, did they.

Luckily, they had ended on a good note so the two of them were laughing and nudging each other. The two parents were sighing, rubbing their faces.

"I love you, bro," Stiles said fondly.

"You too, dude."

They had to wait a while because the others were a bit behind them. The rest of the pack showed up after five minutes, but Derek took another ten to show up.

"Where's Peter?" Stiles wondered when it was only him that got out. Derek sighed, face and shoulders falling.

"He had things to finish up here. But he said he might come back home in a few days."

Stiles smiled privately to himself as they went through the process of returning the cars and all the paper work and stuff. Because Derek refereed to Beacon Hills as home. He hasn't done that in a long time - years. Stiles can't pinpoint a specific point in time that he last used it or anything, but he knows it's something big. Something important. Possibly something ground-shattering.

Around the two hour mark after sitting down at their gate, then learning their planes would be delayed due to a brewing storm in the way, Stiles had noticed that Derek was asleep layed out across his lap. He had at some point, while Stiles was animately talking to his neighbors about anything and everything, layed down cross his legs, curling around him like a human cage. He was completely relaxed, and his breathing was really slow. Like, one small breath every six or seven seconds. At first Stiles was afraid he had suffocated, what with how slow he was breathing, but he had remembered the pattern of his breathing while they were sleeping.

Stiles grinned, and petted a little gentler and soothinglyer.

When the storm had finaly passed and the planes were beginning to load, well... That's when Stiles realized he'd have to somehow wake up the sleeping werewolf without getting an arm bitten off.

He tried scratching his hair a little rougher, then jiggling his leg, then nudging Derek's shoulder... He was too scared to slap him or anything.

Stiles looked up and have his dad a helpless look, but he had only snorted, put his hands up and said, "Your wolf, your problem."

"He's so cute I almost don't wanna wake him up," Erica said, cooing a little, then her smile turned into more of an evil smirk. "Almost."

And then Stiles saw the beauty that was the "Derek-facial-conversation" going on between all the Betas. See?! Derek is teaching them something after all!

A split second later, Erica, Isaac, and Scott all three grabbed some part of Derek and yanked him onto the floor.

Stiles was gaping, because that was so mean! And also, he could've gotten clawed apart! Or Derek could've shifted in surprise right in the middle of the airport!

However, Derek did not freak out. Not in the werewolf sense, anyway. Stiles did notice something freaky going on with his pupils but that was only because of the sudden prey drive Derek got from snapping awake and having three people running from him being the first thing he sees. Yeah. Needless to say he tripped Isaac, made him run into Erica, and grabbed Scott by the ankle and took him down too.

Derek huffed and pushed himself up to a sit, taking a deep breath as Stiles watched in fascination as his freakily blown pupils shrunk down to a normal size.

"Assholes," Derek accused, only making the pups laugh more than they already were.

Stiles pushed himself up to his feet and delicately stretched his sore, stiff back and arms.

"Come on, my asshole pups," Stiles teased, kicking Scott lightly on the leg and reaching out to rub his hand over Derek's stubbled jaw. He noticed that Derek leaned into his touch. So he is cuddly when he's not got all his walls up. Huh.

Stiles followed the adults plus Lydia to the line where they would hand in their information to get on the flight...

Which required a long wait in a line of... so... many... people.

"Ugggghh," Stiles groaned, throwing his head back and wincing in the pull of his shoulder muscles. As if summoned, Derek pressed up to his back immediately and a sneaky few fingers up the back of his shirt between their bodies leached away the pain. Stiles sagged against him with all his weight, unashamed and unembarrassed.

"You should've told me you were hurting," Derek said, sounding low-level betrayed. Mostly because he was pretending not to feel betrayed or upset or anything. Apparently, he's not a good actor when his walls are down either.

"I wasn't. I'm just sore."

"Sore is pain."

"No, pain is pain. Sore is annoying."

Derek huffed. "You're annoying."

"I know." Stiles tipped his head back with a grin and looked up into his (very close) green/grey/brown/blue/orange eyes. God, they're beautiful. Why does everything about Derek have to be beautiful? His so-black-it's-actually-blue, insanely thick, soft, and perfect hair. His perfect pouty lips. His perfect oh-so-rare smile. His adorably perfect teeth. His perfect stubble. His perfect body. His perfect(ish) personality.

Damn this damn werewolf mojo making Stiles all damn poetic and damn the damn damn.

"I think your werewolf mojo is making me high," Stiles mumbled, only half kidding.

"It tends to have that effect," Derek mumbled, eyes not leaving Stiles' either. Does the high effect apply to the werewolf too, Stiles wondered.

"You fell asleep on me."

"... Yeah. I was tired," Derek said shortly, finally looking away and glaring off in the distance.

Stiles grinned anyway and left it alone. He kind of had to, since the line began moving once the people at the desk started getting in the groove and Derek had to leave Stiles back to his achy pain-ness as to not get noticed.

Once on the plane, Stiles and Erica got the seats with Derek, and Derek leaned against the window and closed his eyes.

"Ohh, I forgot about the flying thing," Stiles said, snapping his fingers. No wonder Derek had been acting strange about flying. "Dude, are you gonna be okay? Do you need a puke bag? I'm sure Boyd could knock you out for the whole thing."

"Could he?" Derek asked hopefully, causing the pups to laugh.

"You were fine the way up," Erica said, reaching across Stiles' lap to pat Derek's arm. "You'll be fine the way back."

The engines started to turn on and Derek whined in the back of his throat, making a grim face and looking back out the window.

"Just don't break another seat-handle," Stiles heard his father mumble, who of which caused the whole pack (including Boyd and Melissa) to laugh their asses off.

"I'm sorry, what?" Stiles asked.

"Derek broke the seat handle while we were landing on the flight up here," Isaac said as he pushed his face between the seats between Derek and Stiles, grinning from ear to ear. "Funniest shit ever."

"We should've gotten a video," Erica said.

"Yeah, and have physical evidence that Derek is either inhuman or spends way too much time in the gym? Right," Lydia said, huffing.

"Still woulda been funny."

The plane now began to move.

"You'll be okay, my little puppy," Stiles cooed, rubbing Derek's tense back.

"Don't-" Derek began, but then sighed, relaxing into Stiles' touch.

Stiles grinned. He totally got away with calling Derek 'puppy'. That's fucking awesome.

* * *

"Look, it-it's disposed of. No one should be going around and looking inside a dumpster behind an abandoned factory. And even if she does get found, there's no evidence I've left that could trace it back to me."

"Except for your fingerprints, DNA, the murder weapon that will hold even more of your fingerprints, helpfully discarded right next to the body of your dead wife," Peter mumbled under his breath as he took a sip of his tea. He rolled his eyes to himself. Some people just make it way too easy. It's not fun if there's no real trouble to go through.

"But what if... I want to be with you, Jay, but if you get caught..." said the woman that helped kill the wife of 'Jay', AKA Jason Philips.

"I'm not going to get caught," 'Jay' insisted.

"And yet you insist on conversating about your recent murder in public because you thought it would make it less conspicuous." Peter rolled his eyes, and was slightly startled to see, when he looked up from his tea-cup, none other than Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs - such a beautiful name - walking up to him. It didn't surprise him that he didn't notice his approach - after all, he hadn't yet been able to devote his heart-beat, breathing, scent, or walking-pattern to memory so much that he noticed it subconsciously, but he was also focusing his hearing on the table on the other side of the porch of the fancy but really over-rated restaurant he was seated at.

"Ah, if it isn't my favorite Special Agent," Peter purred as the quiet, tempting-smelling, stunningly handsome man sat down in the empty seat across from him with a soft tilted smile that seemed more business-like than pleasant. Oh well. He could work with it.

"Peter Hale," Leroy greeted.

"And what might I owe this delightful turn of events to?"

Leroy took in a breath and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms lightly over his chest.

"Give me a good reason not to throw you in jail."

Eh. Peter couldn't say he didn't expect it.

"I don't really have one," Peter said, shrugging, but still smiling. He was playing with his prey, after all. This was the fun part. "Unless I could convince you that it would really do no good, since I haven't gotten into jail yet, and I sure as hell don't plan on going any time soon."

"That's not a good reason."

"Didn't think so." The two idiot murderers stood from their table now and walked off. Ah. Opportunity! "How about this?"

Peter stood and went over to the table, where the audio-recorder he had taped underneath it was, and brought it back over to Leroy.

"I tend to lean towards the classics," Peter said, grinning as he sat back down with Leroy and set the recorder on the table between them. "Much more reliable than that fancy comm in your ear and- what is that, a button camera?" Peter eyed the small black lens on one of Leroy's buttons. "Hmm. Okay, I'll give you some originality on that one, but it can still be hacked, I'm sure-"

In the earpiece, he heard someone say, "How did he know?"

"Observation," he replied while looking into the button camera and then looked back up at Leroy. "This is recorded audio of two idiots talking about the woman they both murdered... As I said; idiots." Peter sighed irritably as he took out his small notebook from his back pocket. "They make my life boring. On here are the names and addresses of the three involved, and the role they played. Oh, and the location of the body, of course." Peter tore out the piece of paper and handed that to Leroy as well. "I usually just psychologically torture or simply kill these kinds of people, but, you know, turning over a new leaf and all that." Peter grinned at the man sitting across from him. "Hell, they were too easy. It'd just be boring to try to mess with them. They're the definition of amateurs. They'll crack in a heart-beat. I'll let you guys deal with them."

"You think that this is enough for me not to arrest you?"

"You should never play hard to get with me," Peter teased, even as he was already opening up his notebook and flipping through the many pages of filled information on people who've murdered or stolen. "I like it too much." He realized that it would just be easier to give Leroy the whole note-book. "So here. Every page is just like the one I just gave you, but on different people and things. The ones that are crossed out... well, they're dead." Leroy gave Peter an unimpressed look. "Luckily, turning over a new leaf means there's not as many dead as there would be. There's about a hundred in there."

"A hundred cases?"

"Mm-hmm. See that guy behind us in the ugly purple shirt?" Peter gestured over his shoulder and Leroy nodded once he saw him. "He stole a thousand-dollar watch from his neighbor." Leroy looked back at the guy and squinted distastefully. "Don't worry, though. I stole it from him a few minutes ago." Peter flicked the gold jeweled watch on his wrist. Leroy sighed.

"You know you have to return it."

"Do we? I was going to sell it to a pawn shop. It'd give me and the store money. Win-win."

"No."

"You're no fun." He could resist. He could get away with not giving the watch up, but this was rather fun. He felt the urge to impress and obey. A low-level urge, that is.

Peter took off the watch and gave that to Leroy as well, slightly putting up a pout.

"I'm still looking for a good reason," Leroy said, making Peter sigh. "These are helpful, but even if a drug dealer gives up his confidantes, we don't give him a free pass." Leroy paused for a moment. "You're very good at... this."

"Yeah. Killers, liars, manipulators. After all, it takes one to know one. That's what they say, don't they?"

Leroy rubbed his face and Peter grinned. "Could you promise not to kill, or hurt, or harm, or steal from anyone again if it meant you stayed out of jail?"

"No, probably not. Especially if I were to go back to Beacon Hills, which I am. Believe it or not, Beacon Hills has more problems than this place." He added in a lower voice, more of a side-note to himself than anything; "Your lab equipment would be incredibly helpful there."

"Look, Hale," Leroy leaned forward with his elbows on the table, looking angry and smelling frustrated. "I trust Johnny, and he and his kid trust you. So in turn, I want to trust you. But I'm also a cop, and you're..." Leroy sighed. "I don't want to have to arrest you, because for some reason, Johnny has picked the most suspicious people alive to ally himself to."

Peter shrugged. "All I can say is I do what I do for a reason... If you went on a vacation to Beacon Hills and hung out with us for just two weeks, you'd soon realize that the so-called 'thin line' between right and wrong, good and bad... that line tends to bend, blur, and even disappear far more than you might think."

"What's so special about Beacon Hills?" Genuine curiosity was rolling off of Leroy in waves. It made Peter's wolf actually preen.

"I wish I could tell you," - and he really does - "but there's just some secrets that should really stay kept. I'd tell you about all of the people that I've killed, and in excruciating detail, but this secret - our secret? That's going to have to be taken to the grave... If you came and visited us, however..." Peter smiled hopefully. He wanted Leroy to visit.

Leroy only sighed. "Yes or no, Peter, should I arrest you?"

Peter rose a brow. "Strange way to go about it. No, you shouldn't."

"Okay." Leroy stood and gathered up the things Peter had offered to him.

In the com, he heard, "Boss? That's it? That's not actually a good reason!"

"Oh, one more thing," Peter said just before Leroy turned to walk away. "What would I have to do to convince you to come to bed with me? For just one night?"

"Bye, Hale," Leroy somewhat purred as he left.

Peter rolled his eyes, sighing.

"I really hope you visit, Leroy."

He got no reply.

Oh well.

* * *

"Excuse me?" was the first thing Stiles heard upon leaving a dream about torturing someone.

Well, then.

Stiles opened his eyes and blinked tiredly up at the lighted ceiling of the plane. He was still trying to brush off the feeling of digging a knife through someone's flesh. It was creepy how non-nightmare-feeling that dream was. It wasn't his first dream like that. Far far from it, actually. It was a regular thing anymore. It still never fails to be creepy, though.

Something jostled Stiles, and, after finally taking stock of where the hell he was, he found that Derek had been sleeping on him. His head was resting against his collarbone, his thick, soft hair was tickling Stiles' chin and one of his arms was across Stiles' lap, Stiles' hand rested on his forearm.

"How did we manage to sleep through the landing?" Stiles wondered out loud and Derek groaned in response, pressing harder against Stiles.

"Honestly? It happens more than you think," said the flight attendant that had woken them up.

Stiles made a face up at her and then looked around him. The pack was gone. Everyone was, actually.

"Are you... Are you okay?" she asked next, and Stiles looked at her in question, before remembering how battered up he looked.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine." He shrugged his shoulder, nudging Derek. "Come on, my little puppy," he cooed.

"I hate you," Derek grumbled back, finally lifting his head and glaring hard at the ground, blinking heavily while Stiles got to his feet.

"Liar," Stiles said with a grin, reaching down to cup Derek's jaw and rub his scruff. The way Derek's eyes fluttered shut and he leaned heavily into Stiles' touch was just so god damn adorable. Stiles felt his heart do another funny flip.

Finally, Derek stood up and frowned around the plane, obviously wondering where the hell the pack went and why they left without them.

"Are you two... together?" the woman asked with a big smile.

Stiles didn't want to deny it, because it would hurt too much, so he kept his mouth shut and waited for Derek to say something.

But when Derek didn't say anything, Stiles looked over at him and they met eyes and holy shit, wow, super awkward. Okay.

"Uh... N-no...?" Stiles eventually answered, feeling puzzled himself because Derek didn't immediately deny it.

Derek's eyes flickered between Stiles' own before he opened his mouth and shut it hard, then he turned tail and headed for the exit.

Holy shit.

"Maybe, soon?" Stiles tried hesitantly, heart hammering in his chest, as he watched Derek get further and further away.

But then Derek paused for a moment, hands finding themselves being burried deep into his pockets, and then he shrugged.

Stiles split into a huge grin as Derek retreated the rest of the way from the plane. Because when Derek shrugs, he really means yes but he's too embarrassed to say it out loud.

Derek wants to date him!

"Soon," he said to the woman, who's cheeks were bright red and she looked so horrified, but then she calmed when she realized she didn't just majorly fuck up and she smiled back.

It was a near thing, but she didn't fuck up Stiles' and Derek's relationship.

She might've just strengthened it somewhat. Maybe. Okay, maybe not, but eventually they'll get their heads out of their asses.

Stiles hurried off the plane to catch up with Derek, who curled in on himself when Stiles leveled out beside him.

Ah, and here's that awkward part that Stiles was expecting.

After a moment of excruciating awkwardness, Stiles cleared his throat and tugged Derek's hand out of his pocket and fearlessly intertwined their fingers, pressing up against Derek's side.

They stayed like that for a few more moments, walking slowly through the airport, but Derek let go of Stiles' hand, and Stiles was almost ready to feel like utter shit, but Derek then wrapped his arm securely around Stiles' waist with a thumb through his belt loop.

"I... kind of like this better," Derek mumbled, though he seemed a little hesitant about it, like he wasn't sure if it was okay to say that or not.

"Yeah, hands get all sweaty. Pretty gross," Stiles said, teasing a bit, grinning up at Derek. "You know it's okay to ask for what you want, right?"

"... Yeah."

"Alright. Just making sure we were on the same page with that."

"Mmm."

They walked through the airport until they got all the way outside to the parking deck, and found the pack at their cars in the long-term parking.

"You left us!" Stiles accused as they walked up.

Stiles' dad rolled his eyes and Lydia said, "Whatever. Get in the cars. I'm tired."

"I'm stealing Stiles for the night," Derek announced as he walked Stiles towards the Camero.

"Just no sex!" Stiles' dad said.

"I'm nineteen!" Stiles objected before frowning. "Wait, what?"

"At least use protection," Stiles' dad continued.

"Dad! That's so not what's happening!"

"Maybe," Derek said with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Wha- Derek!!" Stiles shouted as Scott went, "Ew," and Stiles' dad groaned and rubbed his face.

"I'm kidding!" Derek defended himself. "Ish."

"You chose now to find a sense of humor?!"

Derek chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Get in the car, Stiles."

\-----

Half a year later, Leroy came to visit. John and Leroy spent the weekend catching up. Leroy and Stiles bonded and Stiles now thinks of him as that cool uncle that visits only every once in a while, though makes his visits the best that could ever be. Leroy's arrival lured Peter out of hiding and there was an awkward "double-date" thing between them, Derek and Stiles. Regardless of Peter and Leroy not being together, Derek and Stiles (who most definitely were) noticed that Peter pulled Leroy off to his dark, romantic apartment afterwards.

After that night he spent with Peter, Leroy had a brand new twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before.


End file.
